Streetlight People
by luluvee
Summary: A small town girl. A city boy. One looking for herself, the other looking for a way out. One looking to be, the other looking to be better. A story about the strangers that you meet and what they can mean to you, if only you'll let them in. Drabble-esque; AH; M for all the reasons (right and wrong).
1. Pt One: Just A Small Town Girl, Ch 1

**Streetlight People**

**Part One: Just A Small Town Girl**

**Chapter One**

* * *

_Two more days_.

_Two._

_ More._

_ Days._

Isabella Swan blinked lazily and refocused her eyes on the old, office-style clock ticking above the doorway.

Tick. _Two_.

Tock._ More_.

Tick. _Days._

The clock read one-fifteen. And thirty-eight seconds. Thirty-nine. Forty.

She couldn't wait to get out of that hellhole of a town.

As Mr. Banner lectured on and on and on and on (in her head he sounded like the adults in the old _Peanuts_ cartoons,_ wah-wah-wah-wah-wah_), Isabella replayed her plan in her head. She would leave on the morning of the twelfth at the same time she always for school. But, instead of Forks High, she'd drive right on past it for Seattle.

_Then what, genius?_ her over-analytical brain asked. She pondered the question for a moment before a grin overtook her features.

_Freedom_.


	2. Pt One: Just A Small Town Girl, Ch 2

**Streetlight People**

**Part One: Just A Small Town Girl**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The twelfth dawned cold and grey, but that was nothing new for Forks, Washington. Isabella woke with the sun (or what few rays peeked through the dense cloud cover) and laid in bed listening to her father puttering around the kitchen.

This was it. Today would be the day. A shot of exhilaration shot down her spine and Isabella could barely contain herself.

Dishes clattered downstairs, bringing a sudden realization with the disruptive sound.

_Charlie_.

He'd stop at nothing to find her. It wouldn't matter that she'd be eighteen by the time he'd be allowed to process her as a missing person. It wouldn't matter to him at all that she wouldn't want him to look for her, to worry about her.

The thoughts were whisked out of her heat at the sound of her father's police cruiser turning over in the drive. On impulse, Isabella jumped out of bed and rushed to the small window across the room. Peeking through the flimsy, sheer curtain that covered the pane, she took one last look at her father and committed the image to memory.

Isabella sat in front of her window long after Charlie had left. She wasn't staring at anything in particular; more like she was observing absolutely everything and yet nothing at all, all in the same breath. As much as she hated to admit it, Isabella knew that she was going to miss this stupid little town.

Nostalgia has a way of creeping in and blanketing a person's judgement when on the cusp of major change. Isabella knew this but, when faced with the phenomenon, was not immune (much to her later chagrin). So she allowed exactly two tears to fall from each eye (it was almost three but she felt that that would be too dramatic) as she mentally glossed over her inner 'Best of Forks' album. When she finished, Isabella forced herself from the window and began to pack.


	3. Pt One: Just A Small Town Girl, Ch 3

**Streetlight People**

**Part One: Just A Small Town Girl**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Isabella tried not to think about what she was doing as she backed out of the driveway.

_I'm just going to school_, she told herself.

But she wasn't fooled.

Driving through town the memories assaulted her: the QuikMart gas station where she had accidentally driven off with the gas nozzle still in her truck; the community centre where she spent years being forced into group activity; Pollard's Florist where she was fired for mixing up one too many orders. There was the diner where she watched her dad fall in love with Sue. And there was the elementary school where she had endured her first eight years of torture.

She shook herself out of her nostalgic funk when she passed the school. That was a big part of the reason why she was leaving. She decided she wasn't going to spend another unnecessary minute on that town.

Heading north to Port Angeles, Isabella hoped her rust bucked truck would make it at least that far. Plugging her iPod into the cassette adaptor, she was disappointed in herself that she hadn't thought ahead to make a road trip playlist. Clicking the shuffle button with a shrug, she couldn't help but laugh.

First song? City and Colour's 'Coming Home.'


	4. Pt One: Just A Small Town Girl, Ch 4

**Streetlight People**

**Part One: Just A Small Town Girl**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

No more tears and no pangs of nostalgia had assaulted her when she passed the "Thank You For Visiting Forks!" sign hours ago. If anything, Isabella had felt a wave of relief pass over her, as if by passing the billboard she had left behind every single part of her that she never wanted to carry.

This was it. She was on her way.

Almost.

Because her truck was well past its prime, it took Isabella twice as long to reach the ferry and, again, twice as long to reach Seattle. So it wasn't any surprise to her that the streetlights were already glowing in the afternoon light.

"You can do it, baby," Isabella coaxed, caressing the old, worn leather beside her. The Chevy groaned in response but rumbled to life beneath her as it lurched forward through the green-lit intersection. Breathing a sigh of relief at the shaky movement, Isabella patted the cracked plastic dashboard in thanks and continued her drive.

Heading straight for the city center, Isabella stopped at a Bank of America branch and proceeded to withdraw every cent she had to her name, which turned out to be more that she expected. She tried not to think how long the money would last as she drove to a nearby diner for a bite to eat.


	5. Pt One: Just A Small Town Girl, Ch 5

**Streetlight People**

**Part One: Just A Small Town Girl**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Isabella had been driving around Seattle aimlessly for about twenty minutes. She had already gone to the bank and closed out her account. Her eyes scoped out the streets as she drove, looking for a used car dealership where she could ditch the truck and make a little more money. Finally, after another fifteen minutes of driving, she came across a shady looking lot, the sign in the window proclaiming the "Best Price for Your Used Vehicles!"

Pulling into the lot, Isabella parked and stuffed whatever paperwork she thought she would need into her small purse and exited the cab. She winced when a loud, rusty groan escaped from the hinges of the door and she rushed into the building in front of her.

"Well, hello there, pretty l'il lady."

Isabella turned and fought the chortle trying to escape her. This car salesman fit the stereotype to a tee: a paunchy, balding man wearing slacks a inch too short, shoes too shiny, a pale blue pinstriped shirt topped off with a bright red bowtie and a black and red plaid jacket. His mixed Southern/Midwestern accent made her want to roll her eyes.

"Now what can I help you with, pretty miss?"

Pointing out the tinted window towards her truck, Isabella grimaced at its sorry state before asking, "How much for the truck?"

An hour later found Isabella sitting in the cool, drafty garage bay at the back of the auto dealership. Doug Harker, the salesman, had insisted he get his own mechanic to do a once over of the Chevy, to make sure it was worth the seven hundred dollars he was offering. Isabella was still smarting at the sting of how little money her trusty old truck seemed to be worth.

A whistle caught her attention and she sat up straighter as a grease monkey in oil stained coveralls rolled himself out from underneath her rusting beast.

"She's a sturdy one, she is all right," the mechanic announced with an appreciative pat on the truck's hood. He looked at Isabella. "She yours?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I've had… her… for about three years."

The mechanic circled the truck twice before checking out his surroundings. Once he was convinced that the coast was clear, he neared Isabella.

"You can get a lot more than seven hundred, Ms Swan."


	6. Pt One: Just A Small Town Girl, Ch 6

**Streetlight People**

**Part One: Just A Small Town Girl**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"Sixteen hundred."

Isabella's eyes bugged out of her skull, her mouth agape.

Oliver, the mechanic from Harker's dealership, had informed her that she would be able to get over a thousand dollars if she brought her truck to a scrap yard rather than a dealership. She had nodded her head fervently before stealthily driving off the lot (well, as stealthily as the truck would allow, which was to say, _not_) and following Oliver's own GMC Tundra to a yard just outside of the city.

"Not a penny more," the junkyard owner spat, misreading her expression.

"No, no," she replied hastily. "I'll take it. But… Is it really worth _that_ much?"

"You got a quality vee-hicle here, L'il Swan," he replied. "Parts like this, you can't get much any no more. Thems sturdy stuff. Quality."

Isabella nodded her head and watched as the grizzled old man patted her truck's hood once before disappearing to his office to begin the paperwork.

"Told you," Oliver smirked behind her. She turned to look at him. "Harker's a bastard. He would've sold it to you for six then sold it to Richards here for more than double the price."

"Thank you," she whispered in reply, giving into the urge to hug the man. After a second where he overcame his shock, Isabella felt him wrap his arms around her lightly.

"You're welcome."


	7. Pt One: Just A Small Town Girl, Ch 7

**Streetlight People**

**Part One: Just A Small Town Girl**

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

"So where can I drop you?"

Isabella's backpack felt heavy between her feet, as if the weight of all the money she was carrying was a siren, calling for every unsavoury person in the metropolitan area of Seattle to come and rob her.

"Miss Swan?"

"Mmm?" Isabella turned her head, refocusing on the man beside her. She took a moment to study him. He was attractive, the kind of boy that would never look twice at her. Broad in all the right places, slight scruff on his angled jaw, brown hair tousled where it peeked out from underneath his cap. If circumstances were different – and by _circumstances_ she meant _her_ – she'd be tempted to make some sort of play for his attention.

"Just wanted to know where you wanted me to drop you off, Miss Swan," Oliver repeated, smiling at her as he glanced away from the windshield.

Isabella thought it over for a second before replying. "The train station. King Street?"

A look of confused displeasure crossed the young man's face. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." She grinned, letting the excitement of the unknown seep through her bones. "And please, call me Bella."


	8. Pt One: Just A Small Town Girl, Ch 8

**Streetlight People**

**Part One: Just A Small Town Girl**

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Turning on her phone, Bella grimaced when it chimed obnoxiously. There were texts and voicemails, majority of them from Charlie. Resisting the urge to check the messages, she turned the device back off, popped open the back panel, and slipped out her SIM card. Turning to her left, Bella stepped forward into the bright light of the small shop she had found at the King Street Station.

"Welcome to T-Mobile. Can I help you with something?"

Twenty minutes later, Bella exited the store with a brand new iPhone.

Fiddling with the device, Bella checked the train schedule and looked up on the board at the ticket counter to see that the times matched. She smiled and joined the line, trying to get herself accustomed to her new toy as she toted her relatively small suitcase behind her.

"Next!"

Stepping up to the counter, Bella peered at the schedule board once again. "Hi."

"Hi," the attendant replied flatly. "What can I do for you."

_Sound a little less enthusiastic_, Bella thought with a roll of her eyes. "Where's the furthest I can go? I mean, one train, as far as it'll take me?"

"The redline to Chicago. Leaves just past midnight," the middle aged woman replied boredly, her long nails clacking audibly against her keyboard. "One ticket, round trip?"

"N-no," she replied, shaking her head. "One way."

The woman stopped her typing long enough to raise an eyebrow through the glass. "ID, please."

As Bella slipped her driver's license through, she felt a now-familiar thrill run through her.

_Anywhere_, she thought. _Turns out _anywhere_ is Chicago_.


	9. Pt Two: Just A City Boy, Ch 1

**Streetlight People**

**Part Two: Just A City Boy**

**Chapter One**

* * *

"_RUN, MOTHERFUCKERS_!"

A small boom sounded and the sky lit up orange as the old automotive plant began crumbling to the ground in a cloud of fire and smoke. Edward ran until his lungs protested then ducked into the nearest dark space he could fit into. In the distance sirens wailed, signalling the incoming authorities. He tucked himself tighter into his hidey-hole and waited for the chaos to die down. He hoped with every panting breath that his brothers had gotten away just as swiftly.

A foot to his ass rustled him out of uncomfortable slumber hours later. The sky was a dim grey with morning light and the air was heavy with the scent of garbage and heat.

"You're in my house."

Edward looked up and saw the scruffy visage of a homeless man, his layers of dirty rags atop mottled grey skin and hair accounting for the smell in his nostrils. Unfurling himself from the balled position he had fallen asleep in, he crawled out of the window well.

"Get out," the homeless man shouted, waving his arms frantically. "You're in my house! Don't make me call the police!"

"Shut up, asshole," Edward spat, his joints popping as he stretched and stepped aside to let the man back into his 'home'.

"Get off my lawn!" the hobo screamed, his arm making a throwing motion as he hurled invisible projectiles Edward's way.

"Keep it down, Maurice!" a neighbor in one of the surrounding apartments shouted and Maurice began a tirade. Edward decided it was a smart time to make his escape.

Keeping to the side streets and alleyways, Edward loped casually along until he reached Sabbard Street. He approached a large oak tree at the corner and looked to his left then right before climbing the low branches and out of sight of any of the neighborhood residents. As he pulled himself up, he felt around for the little knot in the tree trunk and settled for the branch nearest to it. When he was sure he was secure on his perch, Edward tugged on the protruding knot, wiggling it just so until it began to move with his hand and a deep depression was revealed. Inside was an assortment of things: small stacks of wrinkled bills, Ziploc baggies with varying contents, a plastic folder with a sheaf of papers tucked inside, a half full box of bullets, a bottle of Purell hand sanitizer, a flask, and a rickety looking lockbox.

Gingerly manoeuvring himself to keep his balance, Edward emptied every single one of his pockets and sorted the contents into the knothole.

Money with the money (saving thirteen dollars in fives and ones to keep on his person).

Drugs with the drugs (weed in one bag, MDMAs in another).

Gun unloaded and set beside the ammunition (safety on, of course).

Once he had cleaned out his pockets, Edward touched his hand to the top of the lockbox. The edges were rusted and the number dials looked like they were frozen on '0000' but he knew better. He also knew better than to waste time opening it right then so he let his fingertips stroke the lid once more before squirting a glob of sanitizer into his palms and securing the knothole lid tightly back on.

The second his feet touched the ground, Edward was off, running a quick clip through the streets until he reached the alley that ran behind his current home. Jumping the fence that separated the dingy looking grass from the equally depressing concrete, he slipped off his shoes and stalked through the dry green-brown lawn. Agilely scaling the tree that stood mere feet from the house, Edward then pulled off the bars that separated him from his bedroom window and leapt off the tree and landed less-than-gracefully on the small rug that laid on the floor beside his bed. Cringing at the _thud!_ he had made, he shoved the bars that were still in his hand under his bed and hastily tore off his clothes, jumping under the covers just as the sound of feet echoed throughout the house.

_Knock, knock, knock._ "Mase, what was that?"

Feigning grogginess, Edward screwed up his face and roughened his voice. "Fell off th' bed."

"Oh." Pause. "Be careful in there. But you may as well wake up now. You can be the first one to grab a shower. And I'm making pancakes."

The footsteps sounded again, getting fainter by the second as his foster mother walked the hallway and down the stairs.

The guilt used to bother Edward but not anymore. It had been a long time since guilt or shame had had an effect on him. Even with someone as nice as Chelsea who let him have his own space and everything, lying didn't bother him anymore.

Taking her suggestion to heart, though, Edward climbed back out of bed and made sure his bedroom door was locked before he split his curtains apart and fitted the bars back through the window.

It was little reminders like that had lessened the guilt in his gut until there was none left.


	10. Pt Two: Just A City Boy, Ch 2

**Streetlight People**

**Part Two: Just A City Boy**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"Where were you last night?" Alden hissed, elbowing Edward in the ribs as he sat down at the worn out kitchen table. Edward ignored the boy and continued to scarf down his pancakes. They were a little dry but a healthy amount of table syrup easily fixed that.

"Chelsea did bed checks last night," the boy continued, feigning a nonchalance that belied his tone. "She _knows_ you weren't home last night."

A bolt of unease shot through Edward and he forced himself to swallow around the lump in his throat before shrugging off the feeling and going back to his breakfast.

"So what." It wasn't a question, it was an act of defiance.

And he truly meant it, too. It was a matter of days until he was out of that place, out of the system, out from underneath the institution that had kept him under its thumb. In three days he would be eighteen (_again_, Edward thought wryly) and he'd be kicked out of this foster home, considered an adult in the eyes of the law, considered a good for nothing nobody in the eyes of everyone else.

He expected to be called into the living room after breakfast was over but Chelsea just hugged him as he walked out the door on his way to work. He could feel not only her stare of worry but also the accusing eyes of Alden boring into his back.

Standing at the curb awaiting his ride, Edward let himself fantasize for a minute: the fantasy was always the same. But, too soon even for his hardened heart, the truck that held three other of his coworkers honked from down the block and the stone faced young man was back to reality. With his backpack slung over his shoulder and his hard hat perched haphazardly over his dirty and worn Detroit Lions cap, Edward prepared himself to jump into the still moving cab (with the full knowledge that Vince's breaks were in perfect condition due to their lack of use).

"Morning, Mase," he heard as he hauled himself up and used the momentum of the moving vehicle to his advantage.

"Morning," Edward grunted back, locking in his seatbelt and pulling his cap and hard hat over his eyes. His few hours of cramped, uncomfortable sleep were catching up with him and he was praying that he'd find some way to keep all his fingers intact today.

Little was said on the ride to their current construction site, just grunts of thanks as cups of McDonald's coffee were passed around when they hit the drive-thru on their way. Keeping a covert eye on the world moving outside his window, Edward also kept an ear on the sparse conversation and the news radio mumbling thinly through the truck's cab speakers.

"_In other news, there is one confirmed dead after an explosion at the abandoned GM auto plant in South Detroit early this morning. Police say that a fire lit inside the plant went out of control, sneaking up on the squatters inside. Most made it out injured but so far one body has been recovered with dread that more may soon be found._"

Edward paled.

"_The arson investigator's office says that evidence of foul play has been found and police will be investigating all activity in the area from last night._"


	11. Pt Two: Just A City Boy, Ch 3

**Streetlight People**

**Part Two: Just A City Boy**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"Mase, get your head in the game," Kyles yelled out as Edward narrowly escaped the rain of shingles from above. "Move your ass!"

Flipping the bird up to the back of his foreman's head, Edward wiped the sweat from his brow and lugged the wheelbarrow full of roofing debris over to the dumpster. He was clearly distracted today, the words of the newcast from the car ride over echoing in his head.

One dead, possibly more.

And it was his fault.

He could only hope that all his boys had made it out and it wasn't anyone he knew or anyone he could be connected to.

They had used the old GM plant in years past, first as a hangout then its purpose evolved as their meet and deal spot. That hadn't been the reason why he was there last night, though. Richie, the only one of their group that Edward even considered anything resembling a friend, had informed him that a batch of meth they had sold last week had landed one of their regulars in the hospital. Knowing that the scientific types at crime labs could accurately analyze that kind of shit, Edward had insisted on getting rid of the rest of it, demanding that they burn their remaining supply.

_"You assholes!" he shouted, his hands fisting his hair as he paced circles around the large, empty storage room. The fire burning in the metal barrel in the centre of the room shone his brothers in an eerie orange glow, casting a malevolent glow over all of them. He pointed an accusing finger at the pile of baggies near the flaming bin. "We got to get rid of this shit."_

_ "Mase, calm your shit— "_

_ "Shut up, Gav," Edward interrupted. "Look, do you know that they can trace this shit? By, like, the way it's made?"_

_ "The fuck you talking about, Mase?" Bobby asked, passing the little glass pipe in his hands down the line to Freddy. Edward and Richie shared a grave look, the news from earlier bouncing between them._

_ "They, like, break that shit down and can figure out who made it, where it was made, all that kind of shit." He stormed over to the drugs and stomped hard on the piles of bagged rocks. "And they'll fucking catch us."_

_ Protests were thrown into the air all across the room but Edward stood firm._

_ "We're burning it. All of it."_

_ "Fuck that shit, man—"_

_ "Shut up, Bobby," Crew said sharply, his hardened eyes staring at the drugs lying on the dusty floor. "Mase is right. We're getting rid of it."_

_ So they all surrendered their stashes and Edward had led them over to one of the large pits on the factory floor. It had been previously used to dip the chassis frames in primer or something and Edward felt that they'd be able to light a large enough fire that they be able to burn it along with some random factory debris to cover their tracks._

_ "Care to do the honours, kid?" Crew had asked once they had gathered up enough old parts and garbage to sustain a suitable blaze. Edward nodded in response and he watched with dead eyes as Crew emptied the contents of his lighter in a trail leading down the side of the pit. The man then climbed agilely out of the pit and let the open lighter drip its last drops at Edward's feet._

_ Without any hesitation at all Edward's hand found his own Zippo lighter, his thumb caressing the engraved script on it's front before flicking the lid open and grating the wheel. The immediate heat that radiated from the flame didn't even make him flinch and he dropped the lighter to the ground, watching as the device fell and the trail of butane ignited into a path of orange vindication._

_ They all watched in silence as the pile they had made began to smoke, tongues of orange-red licking up the sides occasionally. But then a pop sounded, followed by another, then followed by a loud, sustained screech. Suddenly Edward's eyes burned white. Yells were traded and he could feel himself being pulled back from the edge of the pit._

_ "Run, Mase!" Richie shouted, pushing him ahead of him. Edward made it to a door and blindly reached behind him, hoping like hell to grab Richie's hand and pull him out of the building with him. He felt his palm connect with another hand and he tugged, dragging the weight with him as long as he could before the a sound akin to Roman candle fireworks deafened him._

_ "RUN, MOTHERFUCKERS!"_


	12. Pt Two: Just A City Boy, Ch 4

**Streetlight People**

**Part Two: Just A City Boy**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Edward managed to finish out his day without maiming himself or anybody else, an achievement considering his mind was anywhere but on the house they were building. As the day wound down, he found himself itching to get home, where he knew Chelsea would have the 24-hour news channel playing.

"The fuck is up with you today, Mase?" Vince asked as they all piled into his truck. The smell of four sweaty men was not one Edward wanted to relish so he immediately hit the button to lower the window as the truck roared to life.

"Nothing," Edward grunted, pulling the Lions cap over his brow. He didn't see the three men share a quizzical shrug between them as they drove off.

Edward counted himself lucky that he was the first one to be dropped off. He didn't even wait for the truck to come to a full stop as he jumped out with a muffled 'thanks,' trailing behind him. He ran up the steps of the large, shabby house, ignoring the other children playing in the yard, even when they called for him to join them.

"Mase? Is that you?"

Chelsea's voice sounded from the laundry room but Edward was making a beeline for the kitchen where the twelve inch television played the news near constantly throughout the day. He wasn't disappointed when he saw the dishwater blonde anchorwoman's miniature visage and the close captioned words appearing beneath her. He scanned the screen, reading the text as quickly as he could – which was to say, unfortunately slow.

'_To-day… In sp-orts n-n-news, th-th-the Detr-oit… Ti-g-gers… p-play t-the San Fr-r-an…'_

"Mase? Oh, there you are."

Startled, Edward turned. "Hi."

Holding out the basket of warm laundry she had in her hands, Edward took it and she turned. "How was work?"

"Work," he replied noncommittally as he set the laundry on the kitchen counter and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He moved back to the basket and began to fold and Chelsea walked across the squeaking linoleum, beginning the arduous task of cooking dinner.

The two worked in silence for a bit (as much silence as two can get with a house full of children running around, at least), Edward walking to the laundry room to retrieve two more baskets of fresh clothes as Chelsea prepped the mess hall amounts of Hamburger Helper beef stroganoff.

"Mase?" she asked as he balled socks. He looked up in acknowledgement.

"If I ask you where you were last night…" her question drifted and then she changed tactics. "I'm going to ask you a question and I'm going to believe whatever you tell me."

"Okay." One sock, two sock, fold, ball, tuck, toss.

"Where were you last night?" One sock, two sock.

"Here." Fold, ball, tuck, toss. One sock, two sock, fold, ball, tuck, toss. One sock.

"I did bed checks last night at one-thirty." Two sock, fold, ball.

"I went out to have a smoke." Tuck, toss. One sock, two sock.

"You know I don't like you smoking." Fold, ball, tuck, toss.

Shrug. One sock, two sock, fold, ball, tuck, toss.

"And you didn't have anything to do with that explosion at the auto plant?" One sock, two sock, fold, ball, tuck, toss.

"Nope." One sock, two sock. "Just went down the street for a smoke." Fold, ball, tuck, toss.

"Next time, at least tell me you're going." One sock, two sock, fold, ball, tuck, toss.

"Yeah, 'kay." One sock, two sock, fold, ball, tuck, toss.


	13. Pt Two: Just A City Boy, Ch 5

**Streetlight People**

**Part Two: Just A City Boy**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"Chelsea?" _Tap, tap, tap_.

Edward could hear through the door as his foster mother roused herself from bed. Her footsteps on the threadbare carpet. The groan of her doorknob as it turned, seeming to echo throughout the large, quiet house.

"Masen? What's up?"

He held up the crumpled packet of Camels. "I'm just going for a smoke, okay?"

Chelsea's bleary look sharpened before softening with a sigh. "You know I don't like you smoking."

He just shrugged.

"But I do appreciate you telling me. Being honest with me."

His shoulders bobbed again.

"Just one, Mase," she said, stifling a yawn. "And don't forget about the alarm."

He nodded then loped silently down the stairs, toeing on his Nikes as he punched the alarm code into the console by the door. He jogged off the porch and down the streets, stopping at his tree to pick up his gun, a stash of drugs, and a stack of bills. He thought for a second before pocketing the flask as well, then covered up his makeshift safe and made quick time reaching the nearby 7-Eleven.

"I told you he was okay," someone hissed as he approached the loose circle of young men crowded around a shabby looking Sequoia.

"Fuck. Thank God," Crew whistled, pulling Edward in for a quick man-hug. "We were afraid it was you who died last night."

"Anyone know who it was?" he asked, pulling a joint out of his decoy cigarette pack and licking the twisted end. He held his hand out and a lighter appeared in his palm and he lit the joint easily, inhaling several times before handing it off to the person beside him.

"Well, the only ones we haven't heard from now are Orlando, D'Cruz, Morris, and Richie," Crew replied, taking a couple of hits off the joint as his other hand flipped his lighter lid in irritation.

Edward paled.

"Orly and D'Cruz are probably together but no one's heard from them or from Morris or Richie."

Pressing his left palm hard against his thigh, Edward recalled how he pulled Richie along behind him as the explosion had sounded.

"Richie's okay," Edward replied shakily, trying his hardest to believe his own words. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "He's got to be. Me and him ran out of the place together."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The joint had found it's way back to him so Edward took three good lungfuls before handing it off again. "Yeah."

_He's got to be._


	14. Pt Two: Just A City Boy, Ch 6

**Streetlight People**

**Part Two: Just A City Boy**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Edward left twenty minutes later, stopping by some of his alleys in order to deal out to his regulars. He was home an hour later, slipping back into the house and up to his room where he sprayed himself with a generous amount of knockoff Axe before climbing under the covers.

Richie had been the one to save him. If it hadn't been for his friend, Edward could've been burned. Or worse.

Resolve bubbled up inside of him and Edward was determined to go out to find his friend.

Sleep didn't come easy for Edward after his resolution was made. His mind wandered as he tried to slumber, the scenarios playing out in his imagination feeling much too vivid for his comfort.

Morning came too quickly and the pounding of feet along the creaky floorboards and stairs made Edward cranky. Soon after, he could hear a devil's chorus of children calling his name from the main floor.

"Shut up!" he yelled, throwing off the thin covers and pulling a pair of basketball shorts on over his boxers. He threw open his door and stormed down the stairs shirtless, slamming his way into the kitchen and taking the only available seat between two of the smaller children.

"Y'okay, Mase?" Monica asked from beside him, tugging at his waistband while looking up at him with wide, hazel eyes. "You looks grumpy."

He sighed and tucked the little girl under his arm. "I'm a little grumpy," he agreed.

She snuggled into his side before plopping a faded purple rabbit plushie in his lap. He looked down at it before looking at her. She nodded encouragingly at him as she stuck her thumb in her mouth. Smiling tiredly, Edward gave the rabbit a covert hug before sitting it in his lap and serving both himself and his foster sister a helping of toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs.


	15. Pt Two: Just A City Boy, Ch 7

**Streetlight People**

**Part Two: Just A City Boy**

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

It was that night that Edward heard from Richie. Instead of meeting up with his boys at the 7-Eleven, Edward snuck out and headed towards St. Jude's Hospital.

"Can I help you?" A nurse asked when he popped into the lobby. Despite the late hour, the place was bustling, people being wheeled to and fro as others in the paper gowns hobbled and limped the portrait lined halls.

"Uh, yeah," Edward replied slowly. "I'm looking for my brother. Richard Minton?"

The nurse smiled kindly at him then turned to the computer terminal in front of her, fingers flying in a practiced manner over the keyboard on the desk.

"I'm sorry, son, there's no Richard Minton here."

"Oh. Sorry, then. I must have the wrong hospital."

"Are you sure?" She peered at him a little to hard and Edward pulled his Lions cap further down his face. "Are you… Do you need… _help_, hon?"

"No, no," Edward replied before turning and quickly booking it out of the hospital.

Three more hospital visits with similar results had Edward heading over to Acton Square to the apartment that Richie shared with his three siblings and their prostitute mother.

"Yo, Derek!" Edward called as he tossed handfuls of gravel up to the open bedroom window he knew belonged to his friend. "Derek! Richie! Guys?"

A small, grubby face poked out the window and he dropped the handful of rocks he had at the ready.

"Mase, you need to help," the kid called down, the distress in his voice obvious. "It's Richie. An' Momma an' Shirley ain't helpin' him."

Edward's pulse raced in alarm. "Derek, you gotta come downstairs and let me in."

"Okay."

"Don't forget to grab your Momma's keys and lock the door behind you."

"Aight."

Edward ran to the outer security door and tugged, knowing from experience that enough physical persuasion would easily grant him access. He waited impatiently for his friend's brother at the inner door, the wire enforced glass seemingly impenetrable to any advances.

After what seemed like forever, Derek appeared and opened the door for him, the lanyard around his neck reaching his stubby knees where the keys bounced with every step. They two of them jogged the stairs and they let themselves into the fourth floor apartment, Edward making a beeline for the bedroom as he shouted behind him for Derek to lock the apartment door.

"Mase?"

Richie's weary voice sent relief through him and Edward collapsed by the bed. The relief was short lived, though, when he looked at his friend and took in his surroundings.


	16. Pt Two: Just A City Boy, Ch 8

**Streetlight People**

**Part Two: Just A City Boy**

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Edward had to consciously keep himself from retching. Not only from the smell, but the _sight_.

The back of Richie's legs and the majority of his back was no longer covered in skin, but a thick looking yellowish-brown pus. The parts where the yellow had not covered Edward could see straight through to angry red flesh and stark white bone.

"Ri-rich-chie," Edward gasped, his hand hovering over his friend's prone body. "What the fuck happened to you, man? I pulled you out behind me. I thought… I thought I pulled you out… Behind me."

"You did, man," Richie wheezed, coughing slightly. Dark spots of blood re-stained the rusty brown pillow case beneath his face. "You fucking saved my life."

"Saved your life?!" Edward's voice was high with doubt. "You fucking call _this_ living, man?"

"Listen to me, Mase." A disfigured hand weakly gripped the front of his shirt. "Get out. For me. I couldn't. You still can."

"Wh-wh-wha-at?" Edward breathed, his gasps bringing forth the foul stench of rotting skin.

"Be better." Richie's eyes closed for a moment and Edward thought the worst but the deep blue eyes struggled to open. "Be. Better."

Blue bore into green for what seemed to be an eternity before the blue dulled, clouded over with death. The hand that had held Edward's shirt dropped, the muffled _thud_ it made as it hit the floor seeming to echo in his ears.

_Be better_.

The words attacked Edward and a sob ripped through him as he rose from the bedside. The longer he stared at the lifeless form on the bed, the less it was his friend. Giving into the urge to run, he tore out of the room and out of the apartment.

_Be better._

Running purely on instinct, Edward ran through the streets. The hot tears blinded him but his footfalls were swift and sure, taking him through dark and humid Detroit roads until he was climbing the tree at the corner of Sabbard Street.

_Be better._

The measly amount of his possessions that laid in his tree-sole safe stared up at him, mocking him with their presence in the dim summer moonlight. His money and drugs weren't going to bring Richie back.

He picked up the money anyway, stuffing the stacks into his pockets until they were bulging. He fit the small flask into his sock then secured the folder and the lockbox against his chest. Tossing the knothole lid back on in a careless fashion, Edward clambered clumsily down the tree and made his way as fast as he could back to Chelsea's house. Ignoring the tree in the back that led directly to his room, he stormed through the front door, quickly shushing the alarm. His feet carried him up the stairs where he proceeded to fill his backpack with whatever his fingers touched. Lastly, he stripped off the bloodied t-shirt, balled it up and threw it into the corner of the room, tugging on another one before he ran back down the stairs and out the door.

_Be better_.

The three syllables carried him out of his neighborhood and fuelled him all the way until he walked into the empty train station.

"Can I help you?" the sleepy looking attendant asked, not even bothering to look up.

_Be better_.

"I need a ticket."

"Anywhere specific, slick?" the attendant spat sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

_Be better_.

"The next train out of here."

_Be better_.

"Chicago it is."

_Be better_.

"Chicago it is," Edward echoed faintly. "Chicago it is."


	17. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 1

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter One**

* * *

The clattering of the front doors occurred at the most inopportune time of the night – right as the lounge singer on stage was transitioning through songs. The sound seemed to magnify and echo through the large space, drowning out the piano that lilted softly through the bar.

Every head turned, brows furrowed in expectation. The expectation changed, however, when they caught a glimpse of the wet, scraggly looking girl standing just in front of the hostess stand. The eyes turned back to the stage and the lounge singer, in all her Marilyn Monroe-esque glory, cut her eyes sharply at the nobody interrupting her set.

"Welcome to Cullen's!" the short, bubbly hostess greeted, not a hint of distain in her voice, for which the young woman was visibly grateful. "Just one?"

She nodded, stringy, wet hair dancing limply around her face. "Uhm, yeah."

"The bar or a table?" the hostess asked, taking the soaking wet coat from the stranger's shoulders.

"The bar is fine," the stranger replied, slinging a ratty messenger bag over her shoulder and tugging along a small wheeled suitcase. The clothes she wore showed no signs of sophistication but the black clad server didn't judge. A part of her was actually envious with the ease in which this new person wore her more than casual clothes

After settling herself down at the long, dark wooded bar, Bella ordered a turkey and Swiss on rye and shivered. Though undoubtedly warmer than the harsh September climate and rain, the slight breeze flowing from the overhead air vents cut through her skin like an Alaskan wind storm. Rubbing her arms briskly with her hands, Bella tried thinking warm thoughts as she ignored the roars coming from her stomach.

"It's warmer in the booths," a voice said. She turned towards it and found a young man pouring some sort of amber liquid into a short, squat glass. Bella looked over to where the crowd was gathered near the stage.

"Uh, no. I'm… Just no."

"Suit yourself."

And he slid over the now half full glass.

Bella stared at it without picking it up. Besides not even knowing what it was exactly that he had poured her, Bella felt uncertain about accepting handouts, especially illegal ones considering she was only eighteen. That and she wasn't sure about she felt concerning alcohol in general. Being the daughter of an abusive and alcoholic mother had turned her off the stuff in many ways. She scooted her stool a few inches away from where the glass sat.

"It's not poison," the bartender said as he slipped a plate in front of her a few minutes later. She looked at him and he tipped his head to the untouched glass a foot away.

"Technically it is," she replied simply and began scarfing down her food. The sandwich tasted delicious and Bella couldn't find it in herself to feel bad for spending the extra money as she devoured the French fries on the side.

"Slow down," the bartender said and he pulled a glass of the shelf behind him, filling it from the fountain hose behind the bar. "Here. Coke."

"Thanks," Bella managed, taking the soda and gulping down several mouthfuls before stopping her binge with a pant.

"So what brings you to Cullen's?"

Bella side-eyed the bartender as he poured drinks from his station in front of her. She watched as he slid each drink neatly down the length of the bar to the waiting servers, not spilling a single drop in the process. She was impressed.

"I, uh, I'm looking for a job. I guess."

"You _guess_ you're looking for a job?" he asked, topping the last drink with a swordful of maraschino cherries and floating it down the bar. He leaned over and wiped at the trail of condensation it had left behind. "You don't sound so enthusiastic about it."

There was no sarcasm in his voice, just slight surprise and a whole lot of serious. Bella fiddled with the food in front of her and shrugged.

"Well, just tell me when you're done, I'll go get Carlisle for you."

And with that, he walked away.


	18. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 2

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"She's not exactly…"

"Pretty?" Carlos offered, peering covertly over at the bar. "Classy?"

"You're a pig," Carlisle chastised, shooing the waiter away. He turned to his wife. "I don't know."

"We can start her off as a waitress next door," Esme offered, sipping her Manhattan daintily. She watched with a sharp eye as Edward "conversed" casually with the stranger. The way the girl held herself, the air that radiated from her white, almost translucent skin said one thing to her and one thing only:

_Lost_.

Here in her husband's bar was a lost soul. She seemed so little and out of place and Esme would bet money that the girl was no more than eighteen.

"What's her story, love?" Carlisle whispered, sipping his brandy as he stroked her thigh lightly. It was their little game, something they occasionally indulged in: find a stranger, write their story.

"A runaway," Esme began, her tone a little wistful. "She's run away from a little town in… Idaho, sick of the non-life she was living. Hmm… Child of divorce. Some sort of farm town or hamlet that didn't have enough opportunities for her."

The blonde Englishman snorted into his snifter. His wife always did love a good Little Orphan Annie story.

"She wants something, no, _everything_," she continued, smacking her husband's chest and taking a sip of her cocktail before continuing. "But she doesn't know it yet. She's on a journey to find herself, but she's lost – figuratively and literally. She just doesn't know where to start."

"She should count herself lucky that she walked in here, then," Carlisle remarked before tapping Esme's leg. She slid herself off of his lap and into his empty seat, watching his backside as he walked away.

"So?" Carlisle asked the bartender as he deposited his now empty brandy glass into one of the racks destined for the dishwasher.

"She wants a job," Edward answered, wiping his hands on the bar towel hanging out of his back pocket. He ran a large hand through his unruly red-brown hair and Carlisle couldn't help the pride that came over him as he looked over the young man. Edward had come a long way in the three months he had been in Chicago.

When Edward Masen had walked into Cullen's that night in June, Carlisle had had his doubts. The boy was just that – a boy, a rascal, a runaway with no clear objectives in life. He hadn't been ragged or sloppy looking but the air he gave off made it clear that he was trouble.

_"And _troubled_," Esme had stressed as they watched him scowl at anyone stupid enough to walk too close. He was nursing a beer at a single table near the back, the small table located conveniently under an overhead lamp whose bulb had blow fifteen minutes before he had walked in._

_ "And what's his story then?" Carlisle asked, prolonging the moment when he would have to kick the kid out on his ass. Felix had just come over to tell him that the new stranger was requesting the owner's presence._

_ "He's hurting," his wife replied quietly. "So much. He's lost everything and he just wants to start over again. He wants to be someone new, someone completely different than who he used to be."_

_ It wasn't often his wife didn't play along with their game and, as he stared at her delicate, heart shaped face, he understood that many times she saw what no one else did. With a sigh, he rose and strode over to the new arrival, passing the bar to pick up another brandy and beer._

_ "Good evening," Carlisle started, sliding the amber bottle across the table and taking the empty seat. The boy sat up a little straighter but the hard edge never left his eyes. "Welcome to Cullen's. I'm Carlisle, the owner."_

_ Surprisingly, the kid stuck out his hand to shake and Carlisle took it firmly. He had expected distain and derisiveness but he had obviously been proven wrong._

Curious_, he thought._

_ "Mas—" the guy cleared his throat and shook his head slightly. "E-edward. Edward Masen."_

_ "Well, Mr. Masen, what brings you to our lovely hole in the wall?"_

_ A shrug followed by a sigh and a sip of beer was what Carlisle received. Edward Masen scrubbed at his face with one large, calloused hand before answering._

_ "A job." He cleared his throat again. "I was wondering if you had any job openings. I can cook or clean or something."_

_ Though his physical features were that of a young man (too young to be drinking at his establishment, but Carlisle subscribed to the European drinking age, really), Edward Masen's voice and the haunted look in his eye put him into the next age bracket entirely. The five o'clock shadow that framed his jaw also gave him a dangerous edge that Carlisle knew would instantly have people intrigued._

_ "Come with me," he said, standing. Once he was sure that Edward Masen was going to follow, he strode over to the bar and lined up five shot glasses before picking up a bottle of cheap vodka. Turning around, he handed the bottle to the stranger. "Pour five shots in one go without spilling a drop. Every drop you spill will cost you a dollar."_

_ "What the fuck?" Carlisle heard Edward Masen breath under his breath. He watched as the stranger looked between the bottle in his hand and the glasses on the bar. Then, with his broad shoulders squared, he stepped up and flawlessly poured all five shots in a single waterfall, his hand not betraying even the slightest waver as he held the bottle levelly while his arm swept from left to right. At the end, as Edward Masen lifted the large bottle of Smirnoff, a small splash decorated the bar and Carlisle chuckled internally. But, to his never ending surprise, Edward Masen just set the bottle down and reached into the pocket of his jeans, laying down three one dollar bills neatly on top of the spilt alcohol._

_ "Welcome to Cullen's, Mr. Masen," Carlisle said with a broad smile. He put out his hand and watched the confusion cover his new employee's face. "I'm your boss, Carlisle Cullen."_


	19. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 3

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"Are you sure you don't need, like, another cook or kitchen hand or something?" Bella asked the devastatingly handsome blonde man sitting beside her.

"No, no, I'm afraid I was stupid enough to let the head chef make all the kitchen staffing decisions," Mr. Cullen replied with a sarcastic sniff. The distain lost some of its sting when he winked at her. "But I always need wait staff."

"I… I…" Bella was at a loss for words. Every other place she had gone to begging for a job had wanted too much: a resume, a permanent address, simple answers to what, on the surface, did not seem to be hard questions

It was when she was eating dinner at a small diner (that wasn't hiring) that one of the waitresses had tipped her off to this place. So she had gathered up her things, headed out to the Super 8 Motel where the rest of her meagre belongings were stashed, and checked out.

Her journey to Chicago had been, in a word, _long_. Forty-five plus hours cooped up in the train bedroom was a lot less glamorous than she had expected it to be. The sights had quickly bored her, the flashing of scenery too quick for her to make any real observations. She thought she had been lucky that she ended up in a berth alone. She was able to sprawl out in her bedroom without anyone impeding her. But, well into the second day, she was starved for company, being too shy to venture too far outside her space. She did manage, however, to make some conversation with people in the dining car every so often, making some new friends and exchanging email addresses.

"I'm a klutz," Bella managed to tell her possibly-hopefully-future-boss. "I'm going to drop things, break stuff, just, you know, generally embarrass myself and your, um, place. Establishment. And I wouldn't belong, anyway. These are all—"

"Miss Swan?"

The warmth of Mr. Cullen's hand on hers had Bella shutting up quite quickly.

"The diner next door could use a couple of new waitresses," he said gently. "We can start you over there."

Bella looked up hopefully. "You… You own that place, too?"

"Sort of." The man smiled softly then rose from his stool. "Come with me."

Edward watched the scene with disinterest.

_I'm not training her_, Edward thought sourly, directing his gaze at his boss' back. He barely had any patience for customers, let alone a new hire.

Two customers walked through the doors and shook themselves off. Though the man had generously held the door for the woman, it was obvious they had not arrived together and that it was going to stay that way. Edward's observation was proven correct when the woman asked little Alice for a table while the man headed his way.

"What can I get for you?" Edward asked, consciously trying to soften the rough timbre of his voice. He had been told one too many times since his arrival in Chicago in June that his voice alone was enough to intimidate people.

"Jack and ginger," he was told over the crooning of Rose (who was now 'soulfully' rasping out one Nora Jones song he never really could understand). Edward thought he detected some sort of Southern lilt in the man's tone but shrugged it off as he mixed the simple cocktail.

What felt like ages later, Rose sang out last call and Edward busied himself filling orders. When the last of the drinks were filled and tabs paid out, he began his routine of closing the bar. Halfway through stacking racks full of clean glasses, he could feel eyes watching him. He cursed, blaming his softened reflexes as the reason he didn't realize it earlier.

"What?" he asked gruffly, turning and seeing the girl from earlier. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was blotchy from crying. It was not joke that Edward had no patience, especially so for crying women.

"N-n-nothing," she stuttered out, turning her body away from him. He sighed and felt a slight pang of regret (or indigestion or something) but did nothing about it, finishing about his duties before making his way down the bar to each of the three tills and taking the trays out of them. He settled and locked his point of sales machine, grabbed the four tip glasses atop the bar, then moved from the prying eyes of the pathetic stranger to a dark corner where he began to cash out for the night.

"Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, one. Five, ten…"

The routine felt so eerily similar to Edward, although he was much more stable with his ass on the chair instead of clinging with his thighs to a not-completely-secure tree branch. He set down the handful of bills in his hand and closed his eyes, remembering the rush he used to get on a nightly basis as he would run the streets with his boys. The money he made now was only a fraction of what he could make on the streets in one night alone…

"Edward?"

At the sound of his name Edward looked up. Esme was standing at the bar just behind the new girl, one arm resting on the lacquered wood top, the other balancing a long coat and shiny leather purse.

"I'll be finished in a sec," he replied, picking up the bills again and counting out his evening take.

"Take your time," she told him. She held up a key ring and jangled it before setting it on the bar top. "Close up and do the run?"

Edward nodded dumbly, still shocked after all this time that Carlisle and Esme would trust him of all people – a dirty, street hardened gangster-runaway from the underbelly of Detroit – to not only lock up the bar, but to run what had to be thousands of dollars off to the deposit. Tonight was not the first time this had happened, but it still shocked Edward completely.

He had to admit, he had come a long way from being Mase.


	20. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 4

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Bella had no idea where to go or what to do.

She searched frantically on her iPhone for a decent yet cheap motel in the area but all that seemed to be around were expensive boutique hotels and extravagant towers. She didn't know nearly enough about the L to risk taking it at this hour and she didn't want to waste her money on a cab back to the Super 8. Walking anywhere, though, posed innumerable threats and, with Charlie Swan, Chief of Police, as her father, she just plain knew better.

She hemmed and hawed, pacing the sidewalk that spanned the fronts of both Platt's and Cullen's. Though she was flush with cash, she knew to be careful with the money, that it would not last as long as she imagined.

The longer she strode, wearing a path into the concrete, the more desperate she became. Whether it was the stress of uprooting herself or something else, she did not know but when the bartender appeared in front of her as she about-faced, she screamed. His look of surprise was comical.

Edward's surprise was doubled when the new girl screamed bloody murder. Quickly, he grabbed her shoulders and covered her mouth with one hand, muffling the sound. Her eyes were wide as she quieted down and then suddenly she collapsed against him and began to cry.

Crying was one thing Edward did not know how to deal with. Well, this type of crying. He knew to throw an elbow or a fist when someone attacked him, he knew to keep silent when confronted with almost anything. In his time, when he had faced tears, they had almost always been tears of fear from those inferior to him, from those that owed him money. Those tears he knew how to ignore. These tears, the deep, tearing sobs of a woman at the end of her rope? It scared Edward more than he could even describe.

"Uhhm…" He loped his arms around her small frame awkwardly. "There, there?"

Bella knew she was blubbering nonsense into his jacket but the stress and overwhelming emotions she had not yet confronted had broken through the surface. She was embarrassed, which didn't help matters, and the rigid way he was hugging her seemed to make things worse.

Above her, Edward was wary of the scene they were making. Squaring his shoulders with a heavy sigh, he shifted the girl under one shoulder and grabbed the handle of her suitcase with the other, being conscious not to lose the deposit bag from where he had it stashed inside his leather jacket. He then moved forward, awkwardly and slowly, cajoling the girl lightly to get her moving with him.

They eventually made it to his car, a shitty, rusted out 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Seville. He managed to get her into the passenger seat before popping the back and tossing the luggage none too gently into the trunk.

She sobbed continually as he drove to the bank, curled up in the wide bucket seat with her head resting on her knees. When he reached depository, he made sure that the doors were locked in the car as he got out. He could feel eyes on him, watching him as he shoved the deposit bag in the drawer and checked to make sure that it had gone through properly. The unnerving feeling of being watched made him wish that he had not left behind his gun in the tree on Sabbard Street.

When he got back to the car, he was relieved to find that his passenger had ceased her crying. She breathed in little hiccups as she stared intently at the leather-covered dashboard.

"You okay now?"

She nodded and did up her seatbelt as he slid into the driver's seat.

"Is there, uh, anywhere in particular you want me to drop you?"

Edward began to panic when he saw her shoulders start to shake. He focused his attention on starting the car and pulling carefully out of the parking spot instead, driving slow to give her a chance to give him directions.

But she didn't.

He drove aimlessly for five minutes before he had had enough.

"Look, uh…" He realized belatedly that he did not know her name. "Is there somewhere I can take you?"

"No," she hiccupped quietly, shaking her head.

Edward could not help the pity that flooded through him. Looking at her through the corner of his eye, he couldn't help but see himself in her place, minus all the snot an tears. That had been him three months ago: lost, without a place in the world to call home. He thought of Chelsea and his foster siblings for a minute. Then he thought of his gang brothers, then of Richie.

Hanging a U-turn at the next intersection, Edward spared a glance to his right then headed home.


	21. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 5

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"And, uh, the couch is over there."

Bella stared around the sparsely furnished apartment. Her mind was blissfully blank, but the creepings of a migraine due to her cry were beginning.

"I'm Bella, by the way," she said, horrified at herself that she had snotted all over the man, wormed her way into his apartment and they didn't even know each other's names.

"Oh." This realization dawned on Edward as well and he scratched the back of his neck idly as he leaned against the countertop in the kitchen. "Mase… en. Masen. _Edward_ Masen."

"Thank you," she said. "For letting me stay. I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow."

Edward nodded then headed towards his bedroom.

He laid on the neatly made bed, listening to his house guest putter around his living room: her muffled footfalls, the zipping and unzipping of things, the rustling of fabric. While it all seemed so familiar, at the same time it was foreign.

He remembered the nights when he was younger, when Derek and Chase and Farley were still living at the home with Chelsea. He had idolized those three. They were the oldest boys staying there, about eleven years older than him. They weren't like the other boys in care – they were polite and quiet with manners and they studied.

_"There's so much out there, Mase," Derek had told him one afternoon. Derek had been the first to call him 'Mase' and Edward had since refused to answer to anything else. "There's a whole world out there that we can't even imagine. And I want a taste of it."_

_ "How?" Edward had asked in his little six year old voice. He understood what the older boy was talking about but could not yet truly grasp the concept._

_"Chase and Far and me, we study. We do good in school so we can get out and do real stuff, really live," Derek answered, pushing the swing a little harder. Edward loved the feeling of the wind rushing through his hair as he soared. "You'll see, Mase."_

Eventually the apartment was quiet. The sound of a video game coming from the apartment upstairs, the honking of car horns and taxi drivers yelling at each other in foreign languages, the rush of the L train – none of it bothered him. He had grown up with similar sounds as his nightly lullaby. If anything, it helped calm him.

Those same sounds, however, were what kept Bella up, staring at the popcorn-stucco ceiling. She had turned the light off in the living room but the streetlamps outside cast a sickly white glow over everything. Dumpster lids shutting with loud clangs, the backfiring of cars down the block(she prayed and prayed to a God she was not sure she believed in that they _were_ cars backfiring), yelling of people on the street: it was all alien to her and she clung tightly to the thin blanket Edward had earlier offered to her.

She felt like crying again.


	22. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 6

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

The ringing of Edward's cellphone woke them both later that morning. Edward flopped on his back on his bed at the same time Bella rolled over to stare at the ceiling on the couch in the living room.

"'lo?" Bella heard. Through her groggy haze, she didn't realize that she was eavesdropping. The late autumn sunlight filtered in through the large, bare windows and stung her eyes.

"Nah," Edward said into his phone. At this hour, he wasn't truly aware of just how thin the walls of his apartment were. "Just fuck off, yeah? Don't go showing up at my door or else I will be forced to punch a woman for the third time in my life."

As he hung up, Edward remembered that he had a houseguest. Bella, on the other hand, realized that she was not in a hotel, but on a stranger's couch in the middle of a city that was one hundred per cent foreign to her. She bolted up on the couch just as he careened into the living room. Staring at each other with wide eyes for a beat too long, they simultaneously let out an awkward chuckle before Edward walked towards his small galley kitchen and began preparing coffee.

"Morning," he managed, peeking at the stranger as she folded up the blanket and rearranged his couch pillows.

"Good morning," she replied, busying herself until she could no longer avoid him. Steeling her resolve, she walked the half dozen steps to the kitchen and leaned against the counter as far away from him as she could manage. "So, um, thank you. For, um… You know, your couch. And…"

"Yeah," he said, picking up where she trailed off. "No problem."

She excused herself and headed to the bathroom, taking her toiletry bag with her and intentionally going through her morning ablutions as slowly as possible. She looked longingly at the shower as she brushed her teeth – motel bathrooms left a lot to be desired, functional showerheads and hot water included.

Edward could hear Bella puttering around in the bathroom and wondered to himself how he had gotten into this situation. This was more uncomfortable than when he lost his virginity – he was fourteen and high and it had happened in Richie's bed with Richie's older sister Shirley. If he had thought then that the awkwardness was bad, then he was pretty sure he was going to drown in it now.

The coffee was done brewing by the time Bella got out of the bathroom. She padded silently back to the main living area and there was a mug awaiting her, the steam wafting from inside of it inviting. She glanced at Edward – he was sipping his coffee out of a glass tumbler, the milky brown swirling as he took tentative sips while he watched her somewhat warily. She inched forward and doctored the liquid caffeine to her liking and sipped it with an internal sigh of happiness.

"So when do you start at Cullen's?" Edward asked after a few minutes of torturous silence.

"Oh." The evening before seemed like it had happened days ago. "I, uh, I don't. I mean, not Cullen's. Platt's? Next door? I'm starting there today. This afternoon, Mr. Cullen said."

Edward nodded. "You want a ride in?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

He shrugged his shoulders as he downed the last of his coffee. "Don't mind. Just wake me up when you need to go."

Bella watched as he walked away, the guilt in her growing as he headed to his bedroom to go back to sleep.


	23. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 7

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

After a quick but oh-so-satisfying shower (with actual hot water, not imagined), Bella spent the remainder of her morning Googling cheap motels in the area. Unfortunately for her, everything she considered in her price range was not exactly within walking distance of her new workplace. And, to add insult to injury, the closest that she could afford left much to be desired in terms of comfort and general inhabitability.

Still, she told herself, she would not become someone else's burden.

The funny little ringtone on her phone sounded, alerting her that she had an hour before she was to show up at Platt's. Shushing the alarm, she gathered up her things, checked her luggage and backpack once more then hesitantly made her way to Edward's bedroom door. She stood, staring at the simple, white painted wood, wishing he'd just wake up himself and offer her a drive. She even contemplated calling a taxi, but she wouldn't even know where to tell the dispatcher to pick her up. Steeling her resolve, Bella knocked gently.

The door swung open slowly at her knock, the hinges creaking unpleasantly as it revealed the room. Edward, Bella had figured out, was a simple guy – his apartment held nothing but the essentials and his bedroom did not disappoint. The walls, like the rest of the apartment, were still the builder's white. There was one dresser in pale blonde wood sitting by a door that she assumed to be a closet. The bed sat square in the middle of the room, a large mattress sitting on a platform made of the same light colored wood as the dresser. There were no pictures on the dresser, no artwork on the walls, barely any color at all. The bedsheets were black, a stark difference in the room, but not really a warm color that made the room come alive.

As Bella perused the room, her eyes fell on Edward himself. His hair stood out in the starkness of the room, a beacon almost, the brown coming out more red in the void of color. He was sprawled out on the bed, limbs akimbo and light snores coming from his mouth. His pale skin – and there was a lot of it, the black sheets were tangled around his waist and he was shirtless – stood out against the dark sheets adding to the fire of hair atop his head. Bella was mesmerized.

_That_ had taken her home last night?

She wanted to kick herself.

The man was absolutely gorgeous. Stunning. God-like. A living Adonis. And she had spent the majority of her time snotting all over him.

It was moments like this that Bella wished that she was a _real_ woman. Real women had confidence and poise, knew how to take advantage of any and every situation, would be able to bring a man like Edward Masen to his knees in the blink of an eye.

Bella sighed. She didn't know if she'd ever be a woman like that.

Pulling the door closed, she held the knob as she knocked this time.

"Yeah?" he called from behind the door.

"Um, Edward? Hey." She cleared her throat and tried again. "It's, uh, ten. Mr. Cullen told me to be at Platt's by eleven."

"'Kay."

Edward listened to Bella's footsteps as she retreated back to the living room. The first thought that crossed his mind was _how_? How had he ended up taking home a stray? He barely spoke to anyone since he had arrived in Chicago. No one came to his apartment – the few acquaintances that considered themselves friends hadn't even stepped foot through his front door and yet the tears of this one lost soul (he though the words with the dramatic flourish Chelsea often employed for hours after she watched her soap operas) had moved him enough to open his home.

_Be better_.

He blew out a breath and absently rubbed his left shoulder. The motion reminded him that he had an appointment with Jacob coming up.

Rising from the bed (and only tripping once on the sheets), Edward wearily stumbled over to his dresser and grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, tugging them on as he exited his bedroom, and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.


	24. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 8

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Edward Masen was not a fan of sunlight.

"Grab me my sunglasses, will you?" he groused as he shielded his eyes with one arm. He pointed awkwardly to the glove compartment and Bella went searching, rifling through a bunch of crap before she came upon a the hard shell Ray Bans case. She handed it to him and tried her hardest not to swoon as he slipped them on. It was like watching a commercial or something.

The air was awkward between them, stifling any speech that could have possibly come. They weren't friends – hell, they weren't even _acquaintances_ and yet Bella had stayed with him, had breached his walls, had crossed his threshold. Though she felt like she needed to thank him, the apology that sat on the cusp of her lips seemed more appropriate.

Edward's thoughts were of a similar tack. As he side-eyed the brunette in his passenger seat he shifted, his body shying away from the source of his discomfort. It wasn't that he didn't like her – he just didn't know her. He wracked his brain then dejectedly realized that he didn't even remember her last name, or if she had even offered it.

They wove through the streets in the uncomfortable silence, audible sighs leaving them both when Edward's car pulled up in front of Platt's.

"I'm…" Bella started as she opened the car door. "Thank you. You didn't have to… do what you did. You know, giving me a place to stay."

"I know." The words were said simply, with no malice behind them.

"Thank you," she repeated. "I guess… I guess I won't be seeing you much anymore."

"Nope," Edward replied. He shrugged. It was a fact. "You're welcome, by the way."

Nodding once, Bella got out of the car, pulling her luggage from the back seat before shutting her door. She waved awkwardly before turning and walking to the establishment's entrance.

Edward decided to pull away from the curb before he did something stupid. He wasn't too sure what actually constituted _stupid_ in that particular situation, but he wanted to avoid it at all costs. Instead, he pulled out his iPhone and checked the time. Though he knew that it would be a wise decision to go back home and catch a few more hours of sleep, he felt restless, like something wasn't right in his world. It wasn't a huge, noticeable tilt, just a niggling that kept tipping the scales to and fro and the feeling annoyed him more than he cared to admit. Deciding that he needed some mindless activity to keep himself occupied, Edward headed in the direction of Navy Pier.

Meanwhile, Bella was shoring up the courage to walk through the doors of Platt's. She studied the building façade for a moment, her eyes moving back and forth between it's neighbor, Cullen's, and drawing differences between the two.

Platt's was open and inviting, walls of glass framed by cheery white sills, the bold touches of heather grey inside the restaurant serving the inviting atmosphere even more. Even the small strip of outdoor dining area in the front was quaint without coming off as kitschy.

Cullen's, on the other hand, was a mystery. The brick of the building was painted black and the only hint of invitation was in the black tinted glass doors. The frames that held the dark panes were a stark and bright silver to match the plate above the door that proclaimed the lounge's name. The minimalism was edgy to the point of dangerous, even in the daytime, and Bella was inadvertently reminded of Edward.

"Coming in, love?"

Bella's head whipped towards the voice. A head was poking out of the front door of Platt's. She nodded tentatively and stepped forward, towards the beckoning warmth.


	25. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch 9

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

Edward busied himself by loading trays in and out of the dishwasher on the bar side of the kitchen. The majority of the kitchen staff stayed out of his way, a fact that Edward was glad for. Even after his run at Navy Pier he was still feeling discombobulated. Discombobulation annoyed Edward. So, in addition to his confusion, Edward was irked.

"Smile, Masen!" a voice boomed from across the tile-and-steel room. At the helm of an industrial sized gas range stood a brick wall of a man in chef whites. The small framed half-lens glasses that sat upon the man's nose were fogged over but the piercing blue eyes that stared with amusement across the kitchen were trained over the spectacles and right at Edward.

"Yes, Chef," Edward yelled back with a sarcastic salute, turning his back and walking out of the kitchen before the kitchen staff began to take cues from their idiot leader.

"Open in twenty, Edward," Alice called as she flitted by, a tray of lit votive candles in tiny, frosted glasses sitting on her shoulder.

"Alice, what have I told you about lighting those candles?" he heard Esme scold from behind him. Alice just giggled as she went about the room, depositing the small flames at each of the tables. His boss' wife sighed. "If your hair catches fire again, I can't guarantee a cute pixie cut as a result."

Chuckling silently to himself as he busied his hands with opening his tills, Edward's face turned blank when he looked up and saw Esme wink at him. What he didn't see when he turned his back to her was how her shoulders fell at his noiseless reproach.

"So how did the new girl do?" Edward overheard Alice ask Esme minutes later. He told himself not to listen and continued with his pre-opening duties.

"She wasn't kidding when she told Car she was a klutz," Esme laughed affectionately. "But the sweet thing's got balls, I'll give her that."

Edward couldn't help when his eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Looks as timid as church mouse and I swear, I think Felix sat in her section on purpose," Esme continued. "So the bastard is harassing her, you know how he is," Edward felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, "telling her to take back his plate, giving her shit and all. Just when I though she was about to cry, she turns and says something to him that had him running out of the diner so fast!"

"Do you know what she said?" Alice asked.

"No idea, just whispered something in his ear that had him out of there quicker than a hooker in Rome," Esme replied. Their conversation, though, was cut short as all the servers began drift towards Alice and Esme for their nightly rundown.

Edward absently listened as Rosalie warmed up on stage. His thoughts turned to Bella – he couldn't reconcile what he knew of her to what he had heard from Esme. It baffled him completely.

"Come on, short stack. We're going next door for a drink."

Bella looked up and saw the hulking frame of the head chef, Emmett. She had finished cleaning up for the night and had been staring in amazement at the sheer amount of tips she had made. It was only her first day, _and_ she had been shadowing someone for the most part. If she made this kind of money just following…

"Uhm, no thanks, Chef," she said, stuffing the stack of small bills into her pocket. "I'm not even old enough to drink."

"First off, if we're gonna be friends you're going to have to call me Emmett. Only the kitchen peons call me Chef. And that's only what they call me to my face." His expression turned comically sour before continuing. "Second, you work here, no one's going to say anything about one little drink. Let's go."

Bella found herself being tugged through the kitchen, the night staff scurrying around as they filled orders for the patrons of Cullen's. There were greetings to Emmett and he waved but didn't stop until they emerged on the other side at the bar.

Her first day was nothing like she expected it to be. Her boss, Mr. Cullen's wife Esme, was a sweet and kind woman and Bella took to her immediately.

_"It's basic waitressing, love," Esme said as they shared a pot of tea at a booth for two in the back. "Ever done anything like it?"_

_ "No," Bella answered truthfully. "I can barely stand without tripping, so I don't know how much use I'll be to you."_

_ "Oh, sweetheart, you'll do better than you think you will." Esme patted the back of her hand before leaning back and tugging the belt loop of a passing waitress. "Chelsea will fit you out for a basic uniform and you'll share her section for the day."_

_ "Hi," a bubbly blonde greeted, hazel eyes bright. "Come on back. I'll fill you in on the way."_

_ "Wa-a-ait, what?" Bella asked, confused. "I'm actually going to start _today_? Like, serving people, taking orders?"_

_ "You'll be fine," Chelsea said, flipping her hand in the air. "I've got your back."_

By the end of her shift Bella was relieved that she had broken only two glasses and had dropped her serving tray only once. She and Chelsea had stayed behind until closing going over the finer points of the job, with Chelsea generously singing the praises of her bosses.

The bar was full and the atmosphere was dark and mysterious as Bella allowed herself to be led to the bar. Automatically her eyes searched out Edward and her body seemed to relax instantly when she saw him, smooth as ever as he twirled a large liquor bottle like a baton in one hand and listened to a customer.

"Yo, Masen!" Emmett called as he settled in on the stool next to her. Eyes cut to their direction. "An Iron Horse and a…" He looked at Bella. "A vodka cranberry for the lady."

Before she could object, a glass was flying down the bar. Luckily Emmett caught it for her before it went flying past. Placing it in front of her as he caught his beer with his free hand, he turned and eyed the stage for a second (the blonde bombshell was singing a stylized version of a Sinatra classic).

"So, short stack," he said, turning to her and raising his glass. She clumsily obliged his toast, licking her wrist where she had spilled some of her cocktail. "What's your story?"


	26. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch10

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

"No story," Bella replied with a shrug. Her eyes were trained on the wood grain pattern of the bar. "Just wanted a taste of the big city."

She wasn't exactly lying, but Bella felt like there was some sort of misguidance in her words.

"Nope, not buying it," Emmett proclaimed after taking a second to observe the small girl beside him. He had watched her as she worked earlier in the day and he was intrigued. It wasn't an attraction, but more… Curiosity. There was something in her that made people look twice. "Start from the beginning."

Bella balked at his demand but gave in with a sigh. "I… I don't really know."

She held up a finger before any protests could be voiced.

"I'm from this tiny little town in Washington state and I… I had to go. Have you ever felt like you couldn't breathe, even when you're in a open field at the top of a mountain? It was like that place was stifling."

"I know how that is." Emmett took a sip of beer while he nodded. "So why Chicago?"

"It was the first train out."

"Wow," he whistled, tipping his glass towards her in another toast. "Ballsy."

Edward nodded in silent agreement. He didn't realize that he had traversed down the bar until Bella had started speaking and he was enraptured as she spoke. It bothered him, but not enough to walk away.

"So," Emmett continued. "You're here. What now?"

Bella shrugged and took a dainty sip of her drink. "I don't know. I've gotta find myself, I guess. Be something. Do something."

"Be someone, do someone," Emmett suggested with a wink. They shared a laugh and Edward scowled.

The worst part was, he didn't even know why.


	27. Pt Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room, Ch11

**Sorry for the long delay**. Work has been a large, horrible benign-itch. On the plus side, I have new tattoos and a bunch of chapters stockpiled for some easy posting.

* * *

**Streetlight People**

**Part Three: A Singer In A Smoky Room**

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

"You have a place to stay?" Edward asked Bella when Rose had gone for her break and Emmett had excused himself to go meet with her. Seth, the piano player was playing out some jazzy ambiance, low enough to accompany the hazy atmosphere without it being too overwhelming.

Bella nodded and swirled the ice around in her glass. She felt tongue tied around Edward and she hated it.

"Where abouts?"

"The, uh… The Tremont on East Chestnut?" Bella supplied, hating that it came out like a question. "They have furnished studio apartments to rent. Something until I can figure out my shit."

Edward nodded and tried not to pull a face. The place wasn't a dump, but it wasn't the best place to stay either, having stayed there himself when he first came to Chicago. He mulled over his next words, pouring drinks up and down the bar.

"If you ever need…" he said as he approached Bella's side of the bar. She looked up at him with wide, dark eyes colored by surprise. He let his invitation hang in the air until she nodded and he nodded in return.

"Y-yeah… Thanks," she replied shakily.

He said nothing and walked away.

"What do you think that was about?" Carlisle asked his wife, blowing cigar smoke into the airspace above them. They were situated in their usual booth, elevated slightly and separate from the main floor booths and secluded in a dark corner. Esme had informed her husband that a certain bartender had dropped off their newest employee that afternoon and both were intrigued to say the least.

"No idea," she replied, sipping her Manhattan. "But I'd give all the tea in China to know."


	28. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 1

**Streetlight People**

**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter One**

* * *

The alternative rock pouring out of the speakers in Platt's was certainly unexpected but diners and staff alike were bobbing their heads to the gritty, bass heavy tunes as they went about their days. Bella, Chelsea, Fiona, and Chase were taking turns singing lead to the different songs as they breezed in and out of the kitchen, the Platt's patrons joining in on the occasional chorus or refrain. The kitchen staff were banging out beats with cookware against the stainless steel cooktops and Chef McCarty was playing DJ, queuing up the right songs so that the flow wasn't interrupted.

This is what Edward walked into that bright afternoon in late November, seating himself at the bar on a plush barstool at the breakfast counter. Esme, working the till and being her effervescent self as per usual, sidled over to him.

"Well, look who's come out in daylight," she greeted cheekily, tapping his chin with a mischievous smile.

"It happens occasionally," he replied. He pushed his Ray Bans up the bridge of his nose. "Daylight is overrated."

Her deep, throaty laugh sounded. "Ah, yes, well, science has proved that things, _people_, thrive in daylight. You ought to try it."

She breezed away to the kitchen and Edward was left with her words. But before he could contemplate them, a familiar sight was in front of him.

"Hey, stranger."

It had become Bella's regular greeting to him in the few times they had interacted since September, though he was never really sure how to take it. Still, it made him smile inside all the same every time she employed it. Which, much to his strange displeasure, seemed to be not often enough.

"Hey."

She slid a menu across the counter. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Coffee."

"Sure thing."

As he watched her walk away, her ponytail swaying as she bobbed to the music, something in Edward was struck dumb. He couldn't tell what it was. When she came back to take his order, he removed his sunglasses to really look at her, see what differences were there from when he had last seen her (which, to his recurring chagrin, was too long ago for his taste). And when she came to check on him fifteen minutes after, Edward found himself openly staring at her, struck dumb by what he couldn't put his finger on.

"Is there something on my face?" Bella asked Fiona after leaving Edward sitting at counter. The other waitress looked at her quizzically while shaking her head no.

"No, why?"

"Then am I speaking a different language today?"

"What's wrong, squirt?"

"Don't call me that," she chuffed, her fingers deftly rolling silverware as they sat in the kitchen. "It's Edward."

"Who?"

Bella looked up to see that Fiona was serious. "Edward?" Bella pointed through the kitchen window to the solitary figure in black at the breakfast counter. "Bartender from next door?"

"No way," Fiona gasped, dropping her order pad. "His name is _Edward_? We all know him as Masen. The fuck?"

_The fuck, indeed_, Bella thought.

Throughout the rest of his meal, Bella found herself staring at Edward, blushing each time he looked up, even if it wasn't at her.

Bella was confused. And she didn't like it.

Esme watched the two while Edward ate his lunch, her observations amused as the two danced around each other. If one of them didn't make a move soon, she was liable to do something not so nice and when that happened Carlisle wouldn't be pleased.


	29. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 2

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**  
**Chapter Two**

* * *

"What's wrong, Edward?" the sultry blonde asked as she sidled up to the bar, the sweetheart neckline of her dress clinging to her chest like Jack Dawson on Rose's door in the middle of the Atlantic. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Put your tits away before Emmett gets out here, Rose," Edward replied, his tone bored. He grabbed a glass, filled it with ice and poured her a Sprite from the fountain hose.

"What he doesn't know," she purred. "You know?"

Ignoring her advances, Edward proceeded to hand her the glass and leave the bar. Heading towards the kitchen, Edward turned left at the last second, ducking out the back door instead. Though he was loathe to do so, he reached in his back pocket for the pack of Camels he had bought on his way to work. It was rare to find him smoking since he had left Detroit, and he wasn't proud as he lit up, using his back to shield the cheap lighter's flame from the blustery cold.

Letting his mind wander as he inhaled the unfiltered tobacco smoke, Edward thought of Bella. Her bright smile when she greeted him at the restaurant that afternoon had kept him buoyed above his usual dark and brooding mood, though he wasn't one to notice the change. But his mood had come crashing down with the mere presence of Rosalie waiting for him at the end of his bar.

Edward didn't know what Emmett saw in the slut.

"Just fuck off, Carlos!" someone laughed as the door to the alley banged open. Edward's eyes flew up at the sound and suddenly there she way, all pink-cheeked and breathless.

"Oh, Edward." Her eyes grew wide before being replaced with a small smile.

"Hey," he replied, waving his free hand lamely. Looking up at the dark sky above them, he glanced at his watch then at her. "Working late?"

"Yeah," Bella replied. "Diana never showed up for her shift and it's not like I have anything better to do. I just about to finish up, but I needed some air."

Feigning nonchalance, Edward leaned against the black-painted brick and watched out of the corner of his eye as Bella slowly followed suit, going further and sliding down the façade until her ass sat on an empty milk crate.

"Was Carlos bugging you?" he asked after a minute of silence.

"No," she replied. "Just joking around."

"He's an asshole," he informed her.

"Not really. More like…" Edward watched as she tapped her finger against her chin. "Misguided sense of humor."

Edward shrugged.

They stood outside together, the muted sounds of Chicago encasing them in a bubble of companionable silence. Edward stubbed out the butt of his cigarette minutes later. Checking his watch again, he sighed.

"Well…"

"Yeah."

They stood and Edward held the door as the two of them headed back inside.


	30. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 3

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**  
**Chapter Three**

* * *

Bella couldn't bring herself to go home.

It was weird. Most days, especially those that she picked up an extra shift, she was more than ready to go home. Well, home as in the furnished crap-hole apartment on East Chestnut Street. Her lease was week to week, a ploy to trick her mind into believing that her current situation was not permanent. But days like this, where she felt confused and alone in the world… it was feeling more permanent than a death sentence.

Standing in the employee break room shared between Platt's and Cullen's, Bella's hand rested on her coat as she stared at the one next to hers. It was leather, worn in at all the right places with one strangely out of place and threadbare baby blue lion on the inner arm of the left sleeve.

Edward's.

Edward confused the ever loving hell out of her.

There were so many questions that she wanted answers to but it didn't seem to be her place to ask them. Who was she to him, anyhow? No one. A virtual stranger. A stranger who knew his first name where no one else did.

Determination flooded through her and she turned, leaving her coat hanging on the wall.

In their booth above the yet-to-be-gathered masses, Esme sat with her husband sipping her usual Manhattan and grazing on the offering of the evening's menu. Through bites of spicy salmon maki rolls and teryaki lamb she contemplated what she had witnessed today at her restaurant.

"The Japanese not to your liking, love?" Carlisle asked, sliding into the booth beside her, the cigar in his hand wafting a sweet, cloying smoke into the air.

"No, no, it's all delightful," she replied distractedly, waving her napkin at him before dabbing gently at her mouth. "Tell Sayuri and Emmett that they've outdone themselves."

"And while I'm at it why don't I have Carlos bring you the Prime Minister's pet goat up here so you can slaughter it yourself with your bare hands."

"Sure, darling," Esme said absently, lifting a single wasabi pea to her lips. Carlisle snicked to himself. "Whatever you want."

Carlisle shook his head and settled in beside his wife, lifting a lamb chop from the platter and taking a bite out of it. It really was good and he made a mental note to pass by the kitchen later to present his accolades to the chefs.

"What's bothering you, darling?" he whispered, throwing an arm around Esme and pulling her into him. She huffed, licking a drop of spilt cocktail off her wrist.

"Stupid things," she said and offered no more. Carlisle knew better than to bait her further. She'd come around in time.

The time seemed to come immediately, though, because suddenly Esme was up in a shot, leaning over the rail of their booth that faced the bar.


	31. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 4

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**  
**Chapter Four**

* * *

"Edward!"

Edward looked up then looked back down again, turning his back and focusing his attention on the trays of glassware towered around him. Bella wasn't fooled. She stormed right over to the bar, but not behind it, and stood, waiting for him to turn back.

"I don't get you, Edward Masen," she seethed when the back of his black t-shirt remained all she could see. "I don't get you at all."

"That was kind of the point," he muttered, stacking glasses haphazardly and making so much noise that she wasn't even sure he had spoken.

"You're hot, you're cold – you seem to take an interest in me but the second I actually look at you, you're out the door in a cloud of dust."

Edward shrugged. She wasn't wrong.

Bella continued to stare at his back, willing him to turn around. Was he even listening?

What felt like eons later, Edward turned to face her. He placed his fists on the bar and leaned close, so close that she could feel his breath ghost past her cheek. Her mind raced, all the possibilities looking in front of her, covered in scruff and unruly red hair. Automatically, her tongue darted out to moisten her suddenly dry lips.

"You're in my head," Edward whispered, tilting his face down so he was staring at the bar top instead of her lips. Bella cursed lowly, hating that she was so disappointed by the lack of anticipated contact.

"You're in my head," Edward repeated. "And I hate you for it."


	32. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 5

**Streetlight People**

**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"You okay?" Alice asked, approaching the still brunette sitting at the bar. She hadn't moved in minutes and Alice was worried.

"Hmmm?"

"Are you okay?"

Alice had exited the kitchen just as Edward had turned around. She wasn't close enough to have heard anything said so she was trying to piece together the situation from their body language.

"Bella?"

_You're in my head and I hate you for it._

The words bounced around in her head, echoing louder and louder as she tried to fully comprehend their meaning.

"Yeah…" Bella shook her head, trying to clear the daze from her brain. "I'm… I'm fine."

In a second of betrayal, her eyes flashed to the opposite end of the bar. Edward was there, lining up bottles and studiously ignoring the general area in which she sat. Anger coursed through her followed by indignation then a final blanket of fatigue.

"I'm gonna go," she told the waitress before standing and walking towards the back.

Alice watched the forlorn girl go, helpless to do anything but let her. As soon as Bella was out of sight, though, Alice's steps turned into a march and her hand itched to slap someone.

A hand on her arm stopped her. "Alice, no."


	33. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 6

**Streetlight People**

**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"But Esme!"

"No," Esme replied, dragging her best hostess away from the bartender.

"Es? Alice? Would someone like to tell me what's going on?"

Alice allowed herself to be pushed onto a couch, crossing her arms in a huff as her boss's wife perched on the cushion beside her.

"It's Edward."

"What about Edward?" Carlisle was on full alert now; this was the other shoe dropping. "What's he done?"

The women ignored him as Esme turned to Alice. "Did you hear what he said to her?"

"Not a thing," she replied with a shake of her head. "I just saw him turn to her then walk away. She was frozen, barely breathing. What could he have said?"

"Will _someone_ tell me what's happened in my own establishment?" Carlisle complained.

"I saw just about the same thing." Esme sighed. "She'd be good for him. If only he'd let her."

"I've never seen him like this before." Loaded silence. "Well, it's not like I have a 'before' to fully reference."

"No, I know. But the night she walked in here… Alice, you should have seen him."

"I did. I was here."

"It's like his entire world flipped the second she walked through that door."

Shaking his head at the women's banter, Carlisle stood and left them to their gossip. He made his way down to the bar.

"The usual."

Edward turned to see his boss and stilled for a moment before grabbing a brandy snifter and filling it with Carlisle's preferred.

"Mind telling me what's got the women so riled up?" he asked as he gladly took the glass from his bartender's hands. He watched as Edward's gazed moved past his shoulder to where Esme and Alice sat, whispering and throwing furtive glances his way.

_You're in my head. And I hate you for it._

Edward heard his own harsh words and fought back the wince that threatened to come over him. Instead, he looked Carlisle Cullen straight in the eye and shrugged.

"No idea, boss."


	34. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 7

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Edward was tormented.

And he knew he had no one to blame but himself. Richie's voice in head haunted him as well as visions of Bella, snapshots of her with those large, brown eyes and pouty pink-red lips.

"_I don't get you, Edward Masen."_

_How is this being better, Mase?_

"SHUT UP!" he roared into the emptiness of his bedroom. Even his ceiling looked down at him in accusation.

He flipped over on to his stomach to get away from the ceiling's blank, condemning stare.

A few miles away, Bella wiped the last of her tears from her cheeks. She stood and walked to the bathroom, splashing some cool water on her face while studiously ignoring the person staring back at her from inside the mirror.

"This isn't why you left," her reflection told her and Bella muttered a few curses in the mirror's direction as she passed it.

Sitting on her bed in the middle of the studio apartment, Bella wished she could call Charlie. Truly, there was nothing holding her back from actually doing it except her own guilt. What would she say? What would she tell him?

_Sorry, dad, I couldn't take one more minute in that stupid, stifling little town._

_ It's not that you weren't enough, dad. I just wanted more._

Everything she thought of saying seemed trite or lame. But how could one properly explain the feeling of slow, suffocating death without coming off harsh?

Unwittingly, Edward's face flashed within her excuses and another stab of _something_ shocked through her system. Harsh, indeed. His earlier words still played in her brain, like a radio on in the background. He was the itch she couldn't scratch, the craving she could never satisfy and instead of thrilling her like most addictions do, it just annoyed the ever loving shit out of her.

She needed to get him out from under her skin, and quick.


	35. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 8

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

A week later found Edward sitting at the breakfast counter at Platt's. His head in his hands and elbows resting on the marble surface, Edward waited for someone to serve him.

All right, not just _someone_.

Bella.

Bella, Bella, Bella.

He had to stop himself many a time over the last week from consciously looking for her and asking of her. And the prying looks and dissatisfied sighs Esme kept throwing in his presence didn't help. If anything, all the simpering and passive-aggressive behavior fueled to annoy him, keeping him even further away.

No, it wasn't the need to see Bella that had him crawling into Platt's. Really, he hated to be there, he hated that he was bowing down to Bella in whatever game they were playing (as he had indeed begun to think of this situation in terms of a very hard and very complicated game). What drove him out to the restaurant was one simple thing: hunger. When he had woken up that afternoon, his stomach had protested from the lack of nourishment. A trip to his fridge landed him nowhere (though he was almost desperate enough to eat the carton of spoiled pad thai; the only thing stopping him in that regard was that he hated to vomit and bad shrimp was sure to land him on his knees praying to the porcelain god) and the only really decent food he knew was Platt's so he pulled on his big boy pants and drove out.

"Edward." He looked up and saw Esme's falsely bright smile in front of his face.

"I can't deal with you right now, Es," he mumbled, his head sinking back down as his stomach growled audibly. "Just bring me a coffee and whatever Emmett's got ready to go. I'm starving."

As he stared at the white and grey swirls in the marble beneath him, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He knew what it was, _who_, but he looked up anyway. And when he did, he was blown away.

There she was, bright smile on her face as she served some customers in a booth by the window. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she had cut her bangs to fringe across her forehead. A few wisps of hair had strayed from their place but they only served to make her look natural, effortless.

_Damn_.

She turned as he was staring and something flashed behind her eyes before being replaced by the sunny bright look once again.

"Good afternoon, Edward," she said politely.

_Edward_. She called him Edward. He didn't know what to make of it. All he could do was nod in response.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Esme poured him a cup of coffee. He stared at it as she walked away, aware of the way her eyes were glued to him.

Bella walked out of the kitchen, tray balanced on her left hand and shoulder, and as she passed him she slid a plate under his nose.

It wasn't warm, it wasn't appetizing; Edward sat up and poked the pale, doughy looking meat slices. Light, tinkling laughter sounded in his ears and he looked up to see Esme trying her hardest not to fall over.

"Esme, what the fuck is this shit?"

"I do believe, Edward," she giggled, "that _someone_ is trying to send you a message."

"The fuck?" The meat was cold when he poked it and he was pissed.

"You, my friend, are looking at a plate of cold turkey."


	36. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 9

**Sorry, guys! **My humblest apologies - unfortunately real life does things that derail timelines. Work is super crazy, especially now, but I'm back on my feet. Thanks to everyone's encouraging reviews and PMs. Nice to know that I - we (Streetlight's Bella & Edward included) - were missed!

* * *

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

To say that Edward was pissed for the rest of the day was an understatement.

After leaving the diner and hitting a White Castle drive-thru, he sulked around at home, slamming cabinet doors and throwing unsuspecting remotes at random. When the clock on his cellphone told him it was time for work, he stomped down to his car and drove through back streets (not heeding any of the stop signs he encountered along the way) and slammed the door to his Seville so hard when he got to Cullen's that the door handle fell off of the passenger side.

"Fuck," he muttered, his bad mood amping up further.

As he walked into the bar, Carlisle (fresh from his afternoon nap) approached him, seemingly oblivious to his shitty mood.

"Come with me, boy," he said, tapping the bar top thrice before turning heel towards his office.

"Seriously?" Edward sneered at the back of his boss' head. "What do I look like, some sort of dog?"

But he tucked his bar rag into his back pocket and slowly followed.

"Sit," Carlisle commanded when Edward eventually made his way through the door.

"Woof," Edward spat, plopping down into the plush red velvet arm chair.

"I'm going to ignore the insolence," Carlisle began, "because Es told me what the cheeky little sass did to you."

"Fuck."

"But I am going to tell you – get your shit together, man."

"Believe me, Carlisle, I'm trying." Edward slouched into cushions. "I'm fucking trying."

"No you're not, you little shit."

The two sat in silence, Edward holding his tongue lest he get fired and Carlisle observing the young man before him. And truly, this was a man – he had come to Cullen's a punk, but this Edward Masen sitting in front of his was a man, and not one to shrug at, either. He felt a swell of pride run through him.

"I…"

Carlisle quirked an eyebrow but waited as patiently as his minimal self-control would allow.

"I… _fuck._ I wouldn't… I _don't_ know where to start."

Carlisle leaned back in his leather desk chair, a small smile on his face and his fingers tented below his chin.

"And that, my boy, is the _best_ place to start."


	37. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 10

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

"It was immature of me, I know," Bella giggled, sipping on the rum and coke Alice had poured her. "But the look on his face was _priceless!_"

The second Edward has stormed out of Platt's, Esme had called Alice and relayed what had happened. It had taken everything in her to not zip over to the restaurant immediately, but she had managed to wait until the end of Bella's shift.

"Oh, trust me, Alice, you missed the moment of the _century_," Chelsea laughed. She tipped her chair back as she sipped her screwdriver. Esme had called a "waitresses meeting" and there were five women (and Carlos) lounging around Esme's office, drinks in hand and a platter of appetizers on the low coffee table in the middle of the room.

"What did you _do_ to him, Bella?" Fiona asked around a mouthful of mini-quiche. "I've never seen Mase… _Edward_… Well…" Bella caught the blonde side-eyeing the rest of the group.

"What?" she asked. "_What_."

"Edward was always very… _Professional_," Esme supplied. Her signature Manhattan in hand (though never as good as how Edward made them; she could never get the perfect amount of bitters when she mixed her own), she fished a cherry from the bottom of the glass and popped it in her mouth in order to think over her next words. "Never clocked in more than half an hour early, never stayed to hang out with the others. Kept to himself very much."

"Sexy, stuck up bastard," Carlos sighed, resting his chin in his hand with a dramatic flourish.

"Never said a word to _anyone_," Chelsea added.

"Barely any to me," Alice agreed.

"Hell, I told you already, we didn't even know his first name was Edward," Fiona said.

Sipping her drink slowly, Bella let the alcohol burn down her throat. "I don't know what I did to him. I didn't think I did anything to him at all, to be honest. He just let me crash on his couch that one time and he drove—"

"_HOLD UP!_" Carlos squealed. "He—you-what?!"

Bella looked up with wide eyes. The only one who didn't look remotely surprised was her boss. The others, on the other hand… Bella looked down into her half empty glass then downed the rest of her drink in one go.


	38. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 11

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

It took Edward two weeks to grow the balls to even think of seeing Bella again. One quick look at the whiteboard in the employee lounge told him when she would be working the last dinner shift and so he began to plan.

"Bella, I'm sorry… No…" he mumbled to himself as he paced atop the plush carpeting in the lounge on the day in question. "Bella, let me explain… I'm an asshole and –"

He turned abruptly as the door opened. Bella strolled in, eyes focused on the iPhone in front of her, completely unaware of anything surrounding her.

Edward cleared his throat. "Bella?"

Looking up, Bella's eyebrows shot up in incredulity.

"Mase," she said, squaring her shoulders and slowly walking past him.

Edward gaped like a fish, unaware of how to start off the incredibly awkward conversation they were bound to have.

"Look, Bella…"

"What, _Mase_?" she sneered, turning on her heel to face him. "You're going to tell me you're sorry, that you didn't mean it?"

_Bloop bloop_, Edward thought when his mouth refused to cooperate.

"Or what, you're going to tell me that we're better off friends? Or, even still, _not_ friends? That you're bad for me and I deserve better than knowing a person like you?"

_Bloop, bloop_.

"Lemme tell you something, Edward Masen: I don't care any more. Or did you not get it when I slid it under your nose?"

And she stormed out of the room.

"Fuck," Edward muttered. "Just… Fuck."


	39. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 12

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

Regaining his senses (after having them verbally bitched-slapped out of him) Edward jogged out of the building hoping to catch up with Bella. His anger, fuelled by the weeks, no, _months_, of pent-up emotional confusion, drove him to a full out run until he spotted her at the mouth of the alley beside Platt's.

"Bella, fuck, come back here!"

As she turned, Edward almost shirked back at the fire he saw in her eyes, her face flush with the same (if not stronger) anger he was feeling. The warning bells in his head were raging but his annoyance and ire overrode them.

"Will you just fucking listen to me? Jesus shit."

"You're fucking insane," Bella spat, glaring at him before starting to back away. "You're… you're just so fuck—"

Edward watched her step once, twice, three times away from him and something inside of him snapped. The months of push and pull, the inexplicable control this mere _girl_ seemed to have over him, it all came to a head in those three little backward steps.

"I'm insane?" he laughed, matching her steps. "_I'm_ insane? Well, you're fucking infuriating."

Bella stopped and fixed him with an incredulous glare.

"Yeah, that's right. _Fucking. Infuriating_. I just can't figure you out." Edward knew he was skating on thin ice but couldn't bring himself to stop. "You're all innocent, fucking peaches and roses but then you come out guns blazing straight from hell.

"The worst part of it all? I can't stop fucking thinking about you! You're in my head and everything I do, I wonder whether or not you'd care or be proud or some shit! Do you know what that's like, to be, I don't know, fucking _haunted_ by someone? Shit!"

The two stood chest to chest, eyes locked in a contest of wills. Edward could feel the warmth of her breath as it blazed past him, searing his cheek with weightless fire, temptation in its worst form.

"So help me god."

And he crashed his mouth to hers.


	40. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 13

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

Bella Swan was very mad at Edward Masen. But not for the obvious reasons.

His kiss took her by surprise, for sure, but when she realized (too slowly, she thought) what his lips were doing to hers, she threw every caution to the wind and began to kiss him back.

It was bruising, it was passionate, it held promises of more and better things to come.

In all, it was the epitome of the perfect first kiss.

When they pulled away from each other minutes (but had felt like lifetimes) later, she blinked once and he blinked twice in response.

_Was that…?_ hers said.

_Uhm, I think so_, his answered.

The persistent beeping of a cellphone broke their silence and, with his eyes still locked with hers, Edward reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it up to his ear after tapping the screen.

"Yeah? No, I'm just out in the alley grabbing a smoke. Around the corner. In a minute. Yeah. No. No. Yeah, okay, I'm coming."

As he spoke, Bella studied his face. There was a day's worth of scruff peppering his very angular jaw and she could see the faint silvery glint of a scar behind his ear. The heat in her face rose as she felt his gaze roam in her visage in a similar manner.

"I have to… To go," he whispered.

"Okay."

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"I'm not working tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Come over."

She wanted to say yes, but her own rationalizations stopped her at the last minute.

"Please, Bella."

"Why?"

"Please?"

She nodded and was no less surprised than the first time when Edward leaned down to kiss her again, though this was quick and chaste. He backed down the alley, his eyes never leaving hers until he reached the turn.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," she confirmed and he nodded once then was gone.

Her hands made their way up to her face, fingertips tracing her lips as she tried to re-create the pressure of Edward's and failing miserably. Logically she knew she should have been mad at him for kissing her out of the blue, for saying the things he had said, for everything since he had dropped her off in front of Platt's that first morning, but her head wasn't in charge at that moment. Instead of thinking, she turned and grabbed a cab, sliding into the back seat and giving the address of her hotel to the cabbie.

As the Chicago streets passed her by, Bella thought only of Edward. He was dangerous, in more ways than one could even quantify. And everything she knew of him screamed 'drifter,' and she recognized it because she saw it staring back at her in the mirror every day.

He was a mystery and she didn't know if either of them would be around long enough to solve it.


	41. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 14

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

Edward worked that evening in a complete daze. He was surprised that he had made as many tips as usual – he certainly hadn't been paying attention to any of the customers there.

After doing the deposit run at the end of the night, Edward drove to his apartment, taking the long way that passed in front of the Tremont. He parked his car along the curb across the street and looked up the building, his eyes falling on the lighted windows and wondering which one Bella was behind.

After gazing for a few more minutes, he started his car and drove home.

Staring at the ceiling as he laid in his bed, Edward wondered what Bella was doing. He imagined her sitting at the foot of her bed, brushing out her hair. In his imagination she was wearing his tee shirt and her pale skin was pink and translucent in the dim yellow light of a lamp.

Unconsciously, Edward's hand slid down his chest and across his stomach. He kept his touch light and tentative because in his head it wasn't his hand touching him. Brown eyes looked up at him behind his eyelids and he imagined long brown hair skimming the tops of his thighs. The sound of his heavy breaths filled his ears and he imagined Bella biting her lip as her hand timidly stroked his length once then twice. His hips bucked up into the touch.

"Fuck," he hissed aloud. _Tighter,_ he begged in his mind.

Imagi-Bella complied and Edward hissed again. Her strokes grew firmer and the feel of it was incredible. Flashes of Bella played through his mind – both remembered and imagined – and Edward felt the strokes along his erection move faster.

_Edward_, Imagi-Bella whispered and he remembered the feel of her lips against his.

And he was gone.


	42. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 15

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

Leaning against the hood of the Seville, Edward fidgeted as he sucked down a cigarette. The sun was setting and the wind was sharp but he ignored it all as he watched through Platt's large windows as Bella finished up her shift.

Looking at her, he felt a surge of guilt run through him at the thought of what he did last night.

"Masen, you want to come inside?" Chelsea called, startling him slightly. He looked over at her and saw her head poked out of the front door.

"Might as well," he mumbled, crushing out his smoke and heading for the door.

The atmosphere in Platt's was warm, the air heavy with the smell of comfort foods and hot chocolate. Esme waved from her perch at the register and Carlos (who flipped shifts between the restaurant and the bar) eyed him as he passed. Standards covers were piped through the speakers and, miracle amongst miracles, Edward found that his usual barside stool was open.

"Hey," Bella greeted breathlessly, stopping beside him. Her hair was pulled back as were her bangs and her face was flushed a pretty pink.

"Hey."

"Hold on, okay?"

He nodded, the tips of his ears flaming and his jeans tightening as he watched her walk away.


	43. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 16

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

Bella came back and slid a bowl under Edward's nose. He took a deep inhale and grinned when he smelled the warmth. Looking down he saw a chowder of some sort and he grinned.

"Seafood chowder," Bella told him before flying off once more.

"Sorry."

Edward looked up, his brow furrowed because he had expected to enjoy his soup in peace.

"Fiona's stuck at her other job," Esme continued. "I asked Bella to cover until she got here."

Edward frowned into his soup.

"If it makes you feel any better," she said after a beat of silence, "she was really reluctant to say yes. I kind of bullied her into it, really."

Edward still said nothing but took a spoonful of soup. It was incredible.

"In my defense, I didn't know you two were…"

Warning bells went off in Edward's head. "Esme," he replied warningly.

She smirked in his direction before flouncing away.

As much as he tried to enjoy his soup, Edward barely tasted a spoonful because of the ball of anxiety that weighed down in his stomach. He knew that he and Bella were going to talk; about what, he had his ideas. But just because he had an inkling didn't make him any less nervous.

"I'm so sorry," Bella huffed, stepping in front of him. Her cheeks were pinked and she was holding a large serving tray in front of her chest. "Fiona–"

"Yeah," he said, cutting her off. "Esme told me."

"Oh. All right. How's the chowder?"

"Great," he replied, spooning another mouthful and actually taking a moment to savor the flavor. It really was incredible.

"I'm glad."

The two stared at each other awkwardly before a clatter sounded from the kitchen and Bella jumped. Glancing over her shoulder, she motioned for Edward to wait before she scurried away.

Edward sighed.


	44. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 17

**AN: **Yeah, yeah, I have no excuse for being gone for four months. Work and RL in general... Well, you don't need me to bitch, yea? On with the show!

* * *

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

"Sorry you had to wait."

"It's okay," Edward said. His voice was his normal, rough timbre and Bella found it hard to gauge his mood from his tone.

As he drove them back to his apartment, Bella took it as an opportunity to study his face. The streetlights that lined the blocks shone in and out, casting his profile in stark relief. There was that angular jaw, shadowed by scruff, and dim, spotty lighting seemed to cast his brow in a somewhat foreboding glow. She shook her head, dispelling any negative thoughts.

She had no idea what was in store for her tonight as the car wound through the flurried air and Chicago streets. She tried to tamp down her trepidation by remembering their all too brief kisses yesterday. It worked, but it only served to make her think of the first time she was at Edward's apartment, seeing him in his bed…

"Are you okay?" he asked, side-eyeing her as he drove.

She just nodded, not trusting her own voice to convince the both of them.


	45. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 18

**A/N:** Second post of the day - just so you know. Double post for a reason, you'll see. Teeney-tiny cliffie, be warned.

* * *

**Streetlight People**  
**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

"Do you want anything to drink?" Edward asked as locked the door behind them. He motioned towards the couch and Bella crossed the parquet floor and settled stiffly on the edge of a cushion. "Water? Soda? Beer?"

"Uhm, water," she replied.

He came over moments later with her glass of water and a bottle of beer in hand, setting them both down on the coffee table before settling down on the other side of the couch. The silence between them grew heavy with expectation and Bella reached over for her water glass, gulping greedily, hoping to somehow ease the tension in the room.

She heard his sigh and looked over at him, placing her glass down again. There was a plea in his eyes so she shifted until she was sitting right beside him.

"I haven't always been Edward Masen."


	46. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 19

**Streetlight People**

**Part Four: Working Hard to Get My Fill**

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

Bella's expression didn't change, no flickers of confusion or intrigue. She just sat in front of him, patiently awaiting the rest of his story.

"I mean, I _am_ Edward Masen," he stuttered out unnecessarily. "But for a long time I was Masen Fitzpatrick. When I was four my parents… my parents died and I got put in foster care. Since I had started school, I had gone Masen because there were four other Edward's in my kindergarten class. So when Children's Aid found me and asked what my name was, all I could answer them was Masen."

Edward knew he was purposely being vague, leaving out chunks of the story but, as the scenes played out in his head, he couldn't bring himself to relive those years. Bella was none the wiser and hadn't stopped him to elaborate, something he was grateful for.

"I wasn't the greatest kid," he mused wryly, seeing Chelsea's face in his head. "But I was really lucky. "Chelsea, my foster mom, put up with a lot of my shit, but she still kept me.

"When I got a little older, Chelsea signed me up at the community center, trying to keep me out of trouble, I guess. There were karate classes and swimming lessons and camps and shit every spare moment of my time. Then this one guy breezed in, a former fighter turned coach. He taught kickboxing and he wasn't one of those touchy-feely teachers, you know? He was straight up and I appreciated it.

"I idolized Crew. He took me under his wing and I eventually started running the streets with him. Innocent stuff at first – street fights and…" Edward paused, looking for the right words. "For intimidation purposes."

Bella couldn't help the shudder that ran down her spine at his last words. Edward saw this but still continued.

"Eventually I started running some of his businesses – drugs mostly. I stayed away from managing the street fights, I looked too young for people to take me seriously and I was more likely to join in a fight then just watch. There was some weapons running – hand stuff and guns. Whatever."

"How…?" Bella's mind was running in a million different directions trying to digest his words. "Did your foster mom ever find out?"

Edward shook his head. "I think she knew, on some level. She must have had an inkling at the very least. But I worked when I wasn't in school, in construction; it explained a lot of the bruises and shit I would come home with. And I looked after the other kids at our house. Crew always taught us to do what needed to be done, you know, so no one would ask question."

Bella nodded and Edward waited, giving her the opportunity to ask any more questions. When she didn't, he continued.

"One night," Edward swallowed hard, trying not to lose himself in the memories from mere months ago. "One night my… my best friend, Richie, pulls me aside and tells me that some of the meth one of our boys cooked had landed one of our regular customers in the hospital. Chelsea watched enough CSI crime scene shit shows at home that I knew they, the police and stuff, would be able to trace it back to whoever made it and sold it. So we burned our stash that night."


	47. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 20

**Streetlight People**

**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Twenty**

* * *

A part of Bella couldn't reconcile the Edward she (sort of) knew to the one he was describing. Though it seemed to explain a lot as her brain began piecing together the bare facts she now had.

"But how did that land you here in Chicago?" she asked, reaching over and placing her small hand atop his. He startled at her touch but surprisingly did not pull away.

Edward gulped, the last image of Richie in his head haunting him every time he blinked. He flipped his palm and gripped Bella's hand.

"We burned the stuff. It was at a, a deserted car factory. We used an empty dipping pit and filled it with the drugs and whatever else we could find. But something went wrong. Something someone added to the pit exploded and the whole factory went up in flames."

The haunted look in his eyes had Bella sliding even closer to him on the couch. He welcomed her advance and turned his body so he could hold her, ground himself to reality with her physical presence.

"Someone died that night," he whispered, resting his head on her shoulder. "I don't know who. But…"

"It's okay," Bella soothed, hugging him tighter.

"No, Bella, it's not." His voice broke and he could no longer stop the tears from taking over. "Richie died, Bella._ Richie_. Whe-when… Just before the explosion, I… I couldn't run. I was mesmerized, I just couldn't make my body move. But Richie, he pulled me, made me run."

Edward's body shuddered and she could only imagine what horrors he was reliving.

"I remember losing sight of him as I ran. But then I was pulling someone out behind me then hiding out in an alley a few blocks away. But I couldn't find Richie after. It took me two days to find him. And when I did…" A sob shook him and Bella could feel hot tears soaking her shoulder. "I didn't pull him out quick enough. His whole back was… it was horrible. Burned so bad that I could see through to bone.

"He told me I saved him, Bella. He lived like _that_ for two whole days. How was that saving him?"


	48. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 21

**Streetlight People**

**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Twenty One**

* * *

"He died," Edward said after calming down somewhat. "He died right in front of me."

"Edward, I'm so sorry." Tears were streaming down her face. She could barely comprehend the horror, having someone you loved die right in front of you.

"It was my fault," he whispered brokenly. "My fucking fault."

"No, don't say that-"

"No, it's true. It was my idea to burn the drugs, it was my lighter that started the fire. Bella, he died because of me. And not just Riche, someone else, too. Two people – _fuck_, maybe more – died because of me, because of what I did."


	49. Pt Four: Working Hard, Ch 22

**Streetlight People**

**Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

* * *

Bella lay on the couch staring up at the ceiling. Edward was asleep on top of her, his face buried in her shoulder. Every so often his body would tense up and shiver and his arms would tighten around her; in response, she would run a hand through his hair until he settled.

In comparison, Bella thought her story seemed so… _Lame_. There were no ghosts haunting her, no demons beating down her door. She thought of her father, alone in his house, worrying after her and her guilt intensified.

There were so many questions that were still unanswered, that she begged to ask Edward. She began forming a list in her head and, at the rate it was building, it seemed absolutely endless.

The ticking of a clock somewhere sounded and Bella focused on it, settling down into the couch to try and catch some sleep.


	50. Pt Five: Some Will Win, Ch 1

**AN: **Okay, we're gonna start gearing up now. It won't seem like it for these first few chapters, but we are, I promise. By the way, I've got another little shortfic I'm going to post. Angsty, no HEA J/A. Check it out if you're so inclined. It's called '_Beneath The Willow_'.

* * *

**Streetlight People**

**Part Five: Some Will Win, Some Will Lose**

**Chapter One**

* * *

"What's that?"

"A camera," Bella replied, not moving from behind the lens.

"_Duh_," Fiona intoned, popping her gum obnoxiously. "I meant, 'what are you doing?'"

"Taking pictures."

There was a frustrated huff and Bella allowed a small smile to press against the LCD screen of her Nikon as she listened to Fiona's footsteps retreating.

Things were going slow that afternoon at Platt's and Bella was thankful that she had decided to bring her camera with her that day. It had seemed to be such an small, almost insignificant decision, really, but the blanket of peace that had surrounded her late that morning when she had cradled the DSLR body in her palms… She hadn't even realized how much she had missed it.

"The stuff you take pictures of," Esme began, sliding on to a stool on the other side of the bar, "they any good?"

Bella shrugged before steeling herself and depressing the shutter. The quick, resounding clicks that followed brought a feeling of relief through her that she couldn't explain.

"I don't know," she finally answered her boss, peeking down to the small screen and scrolling through the short series she'd taken.

It was of a sparrow that had rested on the potted tree just by the large picture window. Bella had caught the bird jumping from branch to branch before it had leapt and took flight. Studying what she could from the thumbnail sized images, she tried to view each picture with an objective eye.

Before she could begin to criticize the composition of the shots, though, the bell attached to the door jingled. Looking up as she stashed her camera behind the counter, Bella plastered on a smile.

"Hi! Welcome to Platt's! Have a seat anywhere, I'll be right with you."


	51. Pt Five: Some Will Win, Ch 2

**Streetlight People**

**Part Five: Some Will Win, Some Will Lose**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"Bella, these are amazing!"

Lifting her gaze from the tabletop she was cleaning, Bella's heart sped and her vision tinted red as she witnessed Esme with her camera in her hands.

"Esme, what are you doing?!" she hissed as she lunged gracelessly across the restaurant floor. Esme's surprise was mirrored by everyone else around them but Bella was deaf to it all.

"I'm-m sorry, Bella," her boss apologized softly, holding out the camera as Bella approached. Snatching the camera out of the offending hands, Bella stalked off to the kitchen, both mad and embarrassed.

With a resigned sigh, she plopped down on to an empty stool in the corner of the kitchen and willed her anger to leave her.


	52. Pt Five: Some Will Win, Ch 3

**Streetlight People**

**Part Five: Some Will Win, Some Will Lose**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"I couldn't even apologize," Bella lamented fretfully, curling up in the passenger seat of Edward's Seville that night. He was driving her back to the Tremont before heading back to Cullen's for his shift. "She was gone and I couldn't find her."

"You'll be fine," Edward replied, navigating slowly through the ice-slicked streets. "Just explain it to her, she'll understand."

"She's going to fire me," she reasoned as a heavy pit weighted down her stomach. "I yelled at her in front of everybody."

Edward threw more comforting words her way, but she didn't hear them. In her head she was going over every possible scenario that could play itself out the next day at work and she barely had enough control to stop herself from tugging at her hair.

"Bella."

Edward's voice pulled her back from the brink and she turned to look at him. He was staring at her, something in his eyes conflicted before being replaced with resolve. His hand rose from on top of the gear shift and cupped her chin gently.

"I promise you, Bella, it'll be fine."

He must have read the change in her expression because he put a finger to her lips before allowing himself to continue.

"Do you want me to talk to her? Feel her out for you?"

She began to shake her head before stopping and nodding meekly.

"Okay then."


End file.
